Destined
by xxlynnchanxx
Summary: Deidara ended himself, in the last resolve against Uchiha Sasuke, in the prodigious blast of his ultimate art, bathing in the thought of reuniting with his partner. Things never went as planned as he woke up, still in his 19-year-old self, with a whole new path to trail, a new future awaited, and an old promise to fulfill. ::Sasodei AU::
1. Prologue

**"** _And in the middle of my chaos,_

 _there was you_. **"**


	2. A Memory

**A Memory**

 **The image of that day still sometimes haunted him at night.**

He didn't have the right mind to distinguish what disgusted him more, the _body_ or the _smell_.

Sasori's body lied distorted amidst the chaos of the fight which previously took place in this odious cavern, his position stiff and stomach-turningly relieved, two liquid-covered swords penetrating where used to be a beating heart in an impeccable fashion. A final hit enough to drone all the life out of the ill-starred puppeteer.

Or

The cave that stank awfully like how every battlefield after a raging confrontation would, burning the nostrils of its smellers with the stench of sweat, rusty metal mingled with brimstone, or whatever chemical substances the redhead pumped into his body to keep it functional. There was none, the suffocating, putrid odor of decomposed flesh nor the nauseating reek of blood, yet the foul smell still threatened all that had left in Deidara's stomach to churn back up again. He gasped, struggling against the urge to collapse onto the ground and squeeze out the ugliest sound a person could ever make.

Night- the inky curtain marking the end of an eventful day fell, and darkness also fell into Deidara's eyes. Its blackness transformed the glistening shade of blue of both the sky and his once-dazzling irises into a much more gloomy color.

Staring at Sasori's spiky red hair, for a moment, the blond forgot how to breathe.

If his grim partner had _ever_ laid down peacefully and motionlessly as he did now, he wouldn't hesitate a single bit to try and figure out whether his scarlet hair was real or a wig, pulling it off in case of the latter possibility. Questioning about his puppet body parts was one of those things the bomber did quite frequently to mess with his partner and to see his annoyed face; for provoking any type of emotion, even hatred, out of this nonchalant redhead brought Deidara satisfaction, the enjoyment of achieving something ever so valuable.

But now, the thought appeared plainly sick. So instead of ripping his dead partner's head off, he ran his numb fingers across the messy red locks, painfully smiling to himself.

"Danna..." His voice was small, shaky and broken. He wanted badly to scream his lungs out, to release all the heavy emotions and boiling frustration suppressed to the pit of his guts, but his throat was so dry that even talking seemed torturous. A word, five letters that he used to say every day, now came out so awkward and foreign Deidara had to question if it actually existed.

Or maybe, it solely sounded weird without its referred subject.

"How pathetic, danna..." he choked out, swallowing back the raw lump in his throat. With every inhale there was a wheeze like air escaping from a deflating balloon. "Leaving after talking shit about my art and lecturing me about your eternity like that?"

Dashing his soulless gaze around, the blond frantically sought for evidence.

Sasori was stabbed, his _core of a living flesh_ was stabbed. He must have used his real body during the fight, which had never occurred, at least since he was Deidara's partner.

Puppet parts scattered everywhere. He must have used his greatest, extraordinary, stupendous, one-and-only Red Secret Technique: Performance of a Hundred Puppets!

This body the bomber was touching was only a replica of the original puppet shell which was stamped on the rock wall. Sasori must have had his body wrecked at least two times as he had to transfer his heart.

The Kazekage puppet. The coil of cable. Metal propeller. Rain of poisoned needles. Jets of water and fire shooting. Were there any techniques left unused by the redhead?

"So, so pathetic..." he breathed out a bitter laugh which sounded close to a whine, the complacent tone vanishing within a second. "And I thought you'd die under my hands."

Deidara could just imagine the picture of a pitiful, desperate Sasori fighting at the end of his tether, clinging on the fragile thread of life that had left, hands reaching for the brittle light of hope that shone against his crumbling fate. The thought sent goosebumps to crawl under his skin. A corner of his mouth turned upward in vile pleasure but soon fell back into a hard line.

Blank eyes stared at his remained, dirt-covered palm. "See? I even left some clay to blow you up later..."

"Hey, danna?" It was supposed to be a call, but the words came out more identical to a rhetorical question. Much like Sasori's crazed expression in his true puppet form itself, the artist's eyes were opened maniacally wide, head tilted to one side, tone abhorrently still, the pause within his sentence promised an inevitable, blazing outburst. "Does it mean that I win? My art is the more superior, isn't it?"

There was nothing to hold onto, not even the thinnest thread to bind the blond to his minute sanity.

White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to remain silent, his hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid- burning, slicing, potent. His face was red with suppressed rage, and when realizing there was no proper reply but the soft rustling sound the breeze made when rushing through his hair, Deidara shouted himself hoarse.

"Answer me, damn it!"

Silence had never been so irritating.

" 'Immortal life'. 'Eternal art'. Bullshit!" the grasp of his hand on his partner's head tightened, preventing a handful of hair from slipping out. "What the fuck is that? When you can't even handle a simple fight against a girl and an old hag!

"Didn't you say that you'll never die, that y-you'll stay by my side till the end of time...?"

Deidara trembled, broken words breaking out from his chapped lips. _He knew it_. There was nothing as ludicrous as eternity in the first place.

 _Nothing lasted forever, and nor did him._

Waves of sorrow swept through his trembling body as he broke down entirely, all his defenses washed away in salty tears. His whole body felt numb, legs flaccid and losing all their tensions to the howling wind. The blond fell to his knees, hands masking the leaked ocean of his eyes.

"Come back! Come back! Damn it!" he slammed his fist on the ground, his skin turning purple both from the impact and the lingering liquid.

Deidara had suffered from hell of a lot of pain and injuries during battles that he merely felt anything anymore, but nothing ever amounted to _this_. Nothing hurt as much as _this_. It wasn't the razor-sharp edge of a weapon or a tremendously powerful jutsu that cut through his flesh, it was the great sobs that racked his body apart. His eyes stung, throat dried, nostrils felt like on fire.

Crying was a totally new experience, not an enjoyable one, though.

The bomber would compare his cries like those of a distressed child- factual, persistent, raw from the inside, without restraint, suppression neither fucks given about the surroundings nor how he looked. Deidara was pain, sorrow, rage, and hatred combined. He bit his lip to blue and scratched his skin to bleed, not only because of the fact that he cried but also the realization of how crazy it had been to drive him to tears.

"Please...no..." Crashing against the solid surface, the ear-piercing screams of his died down to become desperate pleas. "I... I can't..."

He suffocated in the sheer darkness that was swallowing him alive. "I d-don't want to..."

At those weakest moments of a human's life, there was an irrefutable truth that he would always seek for something, anything to clasp into for support, but even his partner's ligneous hand shattered under his grip. A crack of rigid wood and his stability was gone.

Deidara crawled upon the dirty battlefield, fingers scratching the rock floor, body submerged in the revolting smell that he disgusted so much.

No use. He was always the foolish one, wasn't he?

Justifying from the scene, you can say that Akasuna no Sasori was dead. But for an emotionless puppet, had he ever been alive?

Physically or mentally, was there any aching pain arising in his chest when punctured through?

Such an intense breakdown bled the blond dry, to the point that his muffled sobs were no longer heard. His strength was drained and his eyes were dehydrated. He shifted wordlessly in his lying posture, gaze lifting upward to watch the cottony clouds of pretty daydream drifting by at the edge of his vision. A bittersweet smile crept up across his face, then a loud, eerie laugh escaped bouncing off the cave's walls, but not to his ears nevertheless.

He was cackling at its nonsensicality.

Gone. _Gone_. Danna's gone. The more he repeated the fact in his head, the more unreal it seemed.

Tired as it made the blond, crying his eyes out seemed beneficial, as a corner of his grief obliterated along with his frantic tears. The invisible weight hovering over his shoulders was there, still, but his head felt a little lighter, mind felt a little less eccentric. And at this very instant, only that was a wonderful bliss.

Yes, a little fantasy would help. Swiping his hand over his clammy forehead one more time, Deidara dropped his eyelids. Random thoughts piled up in his mind, but he was grateful for those distractions.

 _Sasori no danna, in the spare moment of your ultimate end, in the maze of millions of thoughts that ran through your mind before the gate of death welcomed you, was any of them about me_ _?_

 _In millions of fading images that flashed in front of your eyes, was any of them my smile?_

 _In millions of broken fragments of memories that scattered across your hectic dream, was any of them shared by the two of us_ _?_

* * *

Occasionally there would be a high-minded idiot who came up to the Amegakure's God to ask: "What are the requirements to join the Akatsuki?" and he would reply with something along the lines of: "You only need to be helpful and loyal, willing to devote your life for the sake of the organization." But from what Deidara had seen, those words were nothing but enticing lies.

He was young but experienced enough to view the world as far more cruel, dark and twisted than what those foolish and blind eyes had witnessed. How many lives had been taken, how many people had been driven to suicide working for the Akatsuki, along with all of these not close-to-human-but-hadn't-quite-reached-the-traits-of-monsters members? Who was senseless enough to devote themselves to a criminal organization if not for their own benefits?

They killed to survive, instinctively embracing their beliefs so that their lives wouldn't seem so useless. They knew that they were nothing but pawns on a checkerboard, manipulating puppets under Pain's strings, but they couldn't escape. Where was it for them to return?

Being in the Akatsuki didn't only demand power and loyalty, enthusiasm and confidence. The longer you stay, the more you realized it required in you almost every inhuman characteristics. Fearlessness to face the corpses, the bloodiness, the guilt without flinching. Stability to not go insane in this oppressive prison or from the weight of all your crimes. The necessary skill of concealing your feelings and pretending like nothing ever happened.

That was why Deidara was here, smiling and shifting in front of his two fellow members like he hadn't broken down five minutes ago, with his eyes directing down onto his fidgety feet.

"What took you so long, Deidara?" Black Zetsu grunted with his low voice. "Finally, we still have to travel here."

"Oh, don't blame him, Zetsu-san. Senpai had just lost his partner." White Zetsu smiled (or I'd say, half-smiled) sympathetically, but it ticked off the blond nonetheless. Along with Tobi, he bent down near Sasori's to do his assigned work- cleaning the battlefield and inspecting the corpse for anything suspicious.

Tobi and Zetsu's small scrutiny, however, stopped momentarily at the sight of the broken puppet hand, a little confusion lit in their eyes. The masked man gave Sasori a cursory glance before standing up and walking to the original body. He pulled out the kanji ring from the puppet's thumb then wore it on himself, hand shaking and forehead sweating bullets. Tobi must have wished his partner hadn't realized his uneasiness, but those wary peeks he made at him before turning away was already a form of self-explanation. The intense eye contact between the blond and the annoyed flytrap likewise burned for a few seconds, but Zetsu finally broke it off.

Zetsu blew out a sigh. "Remember, no special emotions, affection, inappropriate relationships within the organization."

"I know." Deidara hissed.

Always the same order. The same nonsense.

He couldn't understand. Merciless murderers as they were, the littlest part of them was still human. What was wrong with having feelings? What was wrong with having a little affection to remind you of your own existence? What was wrong with having a bit of peacefulness in this chaotic life? What was wrong, with having a harbor to return to after every blood-soaked battle?

 _If only danna thought the same way_. The blond thought as he stole a glance at the broken body.

Yes, if anyone asked for the most obedient member, it must have been Sasori. In everybody within the shinobi group's eyes, he was one of the serious members who valued the regulations absent-mindedly thinking that every fruitful thing needed to be disciplined with the faculty of reasoning. That emotions were obstacles preventing his steps to success. But going against the rules for once wouldn't hurt, would it? They are meant to be broken after all.

The redhead had mastered in hiding his emotions, to the point that people actually believed he had none at all. But Deidara knew that there were. Oh there were a lot.

The bomber acknowledged that fact, and he _devoured_ the way that he was the only one who had the ability to provoke those feelings from the seemingly unemotional Puppet Master. It was his eyebrows that lifted ever so slightly, the tranquil pool of hazel that corrugated under his gaze, the corners of his lips that quirked up ever so marginally, the softness in his harsh words, the warmth of his cold touch... Nothing, in any case, definitely in his partner's case, passed by under the blond artist's eyes.

"Danna..." muttered Deidara, recollecting Sasori's startled expression the first time he addressed him that. The byname had been random since. And even though the redhead was not in his 'true' form at the moment, he could clearly see Hiruko's eyes ticks away from popping out of their sockets and its tail waggling to lash poison into his skin. It was so much fun, of course, except for the poison part.

"Deidara." A voice cut through his train of thought, as smooth as a knife through butter. He almost jumped out of his skin, body shoving forward a little before turning to look at his companions. "O-Oh? Have you guys finished?"

"Stop acting so strange," complained Zetsu, tapping his fingers on his wrist. Black Zetsu seemed to be in full control today, huh? "we don't need a sentimental woman here in the Akatsuki grieving over her dead partner."

There was a moment of silence and his patience shattering before Deidara spoke up.

"What the fuck do you know, huh?" Burning rage kissed through his body like a deadly poison, screeching for a release of violence. He grabbed the collar of his associate's cloak and smashed his body against the stone wall, producing a loud thud and a slight gasp of surprise as he did so. "What do you know? About me? About him? About _us_? You're just a goddamn cannibalistic venus flytrap with a personality disorder for fuck's sake!

"What position are you in to criticize me, bastard!?"

"This is against the rules, Deidara." Zetsu droned indifferently, which did nothing but adding oil to the burning fire. "Put me down or you'll be punished."

Seeing red, Deidara tightened his grip, slamming the flytrap's head repeatedly as if it was a broken device. He couldn't care less about any of those so fearsome punishments. The only thing the enraged bomber was engrossed to do was to bash this asshole's skull until it bled.

 _Smack. Smack. Smack._

It made a nice rhythm. He was certain he must have killed if it was not for Tobi running between them and pushing his arm away. "You two, stop it! This is not the time for fighting!"

He eyed the bomber briefly before stepping to Zetsu to have a small discussion, while the latter only let out an irritated sigh. Stepping aside in purpose of gaining a decent personal space, Deidara crossed his arms over his chest. His feet spun to kick away some rocks on the ground, cracking against the stunted earth.

"Fine." The small hair on his nape rose hearing the unwilling exhale by the side of his ear. "I'll let him go this time since he was not feeling well, but there will be no next time."

He didn't have to look to know that Tobi had lit up like a Christmas tree. "Thank you, Zetsu-san!"

"You don't need to do that, you know." he mildly told his partner-to-be, adjusting his volume so that the mutated creature wouldn't be able to hear. "It's not like I'm afraid of him-"

"No, Tobi is a good boy! He is here to keep senpai happy!" exclaimed an anxious Tobi trying to stay positive. He put a hand on the blond's back, flicking through his hair and gently guiding him outside. "Don't worry senpai, Tobi is always here for you. You can rely on him.

For the first time, Deidara narrowed his eyes to see Tobi's visible one curving under his mask, little crinkles created by the side. "...And I'm sure, somewhere above there in the sky, Sasori-senpai was looking over you too."

As they reached the front of the cave, Deidara and Tobi were welcomed by the golden moonlight streaming down from above, brightening their features. The blond gazed heavenward, feeling the fresh air that pressed against his pale skin.

Love burned in those blue eyes mixed with thoughts, and Tobi knew whom that gaze devoted to straight away. "Thanks, un. That means a lot."

"Senpai th-thanked me..." he uttered, immensely heartened, "There's something wrong with my knees, why do they feel so weak...?"

"Cut it out, un." Deidara giggled.

Beneath him, the shadow stretched into twice of his size. The heat of the day had ebbed to a comforting warmth and the trio sauntered under the trees, oversized Akatsuki cloaks dangling from their arms.

"I shall be okay. I've made a promise," he said after a long moment of silence.

Tobi blinked in oblivion. "What promise, senpai?"

"If he's not here anymore, I'll replace him. I'll show him how foolish he was to leave this world behind. I'll show him that this brat's momentary art is far more superior than those stupid puppets of his. I'll fulfill his desire, as a true artist." The words brought a genuine smile to Deidara's lips, the smile that Sasori had fallen in love with countless of times. "In short, I'll become... _the greatest artist of all time."_

* * *

 **_xxlynnchanxx**


	3. A Loner

**A Loner**

Hardly had Deidara raised his arm when a pang of pain and memories stunned him to the bones.

"Perfect timing, bastard..." he cast a resentful glare to the ground, twitching to the image of his ex-partner. "You're still annoying when you're dead, huh?"

It was beyond annoying. How his ridiculously heart-warming smile persisted on re-appearing every time he closed his eyes. How the good old times kept creeping back to prevent him from grasping even petite exhilaration. How it was supposed to hurt, to make him feel vulnerable, to _haunt_. How it had left him empty, cracked and insomniac, eternally unable to return to the one he used to be. The fact that it would _exist_ , lingering around in his mind as long as he was still alive and breathing.

" _Just end this already_ ," Deidara exhaled heavily before averting his gaze to the young Uchiha. Chakra was ebbing away at the core of his being, so numb and exhausted he wouldn't feel anything but dull aches sweeping across his body whether his limbs were cut off. Emerging from his and Sasuke'mouths were short and urgent breaths, weary with the burden of half-closed eyes, but neither admitted surrender.

With trivial detonating clay left in his pockets, Deidara was certain that he could secure his victory, that seconds later his opponent would be dead and he could finally let loose a smile, but those swirling red eyes said otherwise.

 _Deidara remembered those eyes_ , those over-confident eyes that made him feel sick staring at. Those over-powered eyes that forced a youthful him into a criminal organization, into an assassin's dreadful life. Those overrated eyes that were the start of his tragedy of a lifetime. Their captivating patterns might have blinded his artistic sense once, but now that his vision was clear, all he saw were sadistic hatred, agony and egotistic desires buried within. Sharingan was not a power worth being so prideful of, it was a fucking curse.

 _Yet how could one be so calm, so nonchalant, not even_ _the slightest_ _bit trembling, not even the slightest bit scared when he was standing between the living and the death?_

Deidara took in the raven-haired kid's reaction with tightly gritted teeth. Sasuke was, to his amazement, completely blank. His Sharingan-retracted eyes were black like an endless stretch of the midnight sky and stony as the still surface of an autumnal puddle. Incredible, that was the amount of wrath such indifferent, arrogant brat like Sasuke managed to trigger from him. Astonishing, that was how no matter how many times he encountered an Uchiha, his loathing would never quaver any less. He hadn't had these feelings of massive destruction and craves for killing in years, and the fact that he was shaking with anger entertained him in a depraved way.

 _"_ _Ha!"_ Deidara breathed out a light puff of air, thus blowing a few strands of his bang from covering his mechanical eye. _"You're watching up there, danna? Look who is becoming one with his art too!"_

All that nonsense _"If you're not your art itself, then yours is not complete."_ would mean nothing to him now. This world was not meant for him any longer, it was shooing him away. He knew the heaven gate with Sasori smiling and welcoming him would make the perfect artist's haven. He knew it was too late to save himself, to save his art. He knew it would take some sort of extreme mind-controlled jutsu to drive people into acknowledgment.

Suddenly, everything about living seemed so pointless. Deidara's eyes grew as opaque as the utmost ocean's depth, but he could feel the _energy_ \- the electric-like sensation that scarcely rushed through his veins in his living times, now only flourished whilst he was facing the dead. If C0 was the only way to show his ultimate art to the world, then what was it to hesitate?

Amidst descended turmoil, amidst dust, amidst pain, amidst burning grey ashes, Deidara found himself at peace. Amidst shattered memories, amidst blood, amidst amity, amidst his sigh of utter relief, Deidara almost thought he was trapped in genjutsu when the redhead crossed his mind.

* * *

Sasori was here, beside the purling river, silently staring at the image of himself reflecting on the water surface, under the silvered moonlight that transformed the place into such a miraculous sight. He was so real, so close, so _striking_ , yet Deidara wasn't able to risk a touch.

What if everything disappear? This world, nonetheless, was fictional. It was a fragment of his own mind, the last journey that maybe god himself set up as a goodbye gift for him before welcoming him into the afterlife. He did an expected wonderful job, though, as the scenery of their usual stopover, along with the chilly breeze that nibbled on his shoulders were all so precise they brought together this bittersweet feeling of nostalgia.

Deidara laughed then took a sit on the damp earth, next to his much-loved danna. The almost-black grass carpet of the river-bank grew lush underneath, laying under the brittle leaves in its shaggy autumnal decrepitude. The meticulous details sprayed goosebumps all over the blond's skin with the genuine feeling it offered. He was able to notice even the sharp edges of every grass blade and how they trembled ever so slightly, the fertile brown patches secreted among weeds and meadow flowers- those that 'alive' Deidara had never bother to take into consideration. If anything, this must have been some exclusive dream.

It was with a wide grin that he jumped into their routine bickering. "Can't we go to the motel? Forests are fucking disgusting, un!"

Some said inns were too luxurious and fancy for homeless nuke-nin like the duo were, but they were _wanted criminals_. They had committed so many sins that even Satan had to pucker his brows upon their arrivals. The blood of whom they had killed (in an aesthetically artistic fashion) was enough to fill a grand sea. Did they seem like the type to pay for rent?

Deidara cocked his eyebrow at the immobilized redhead. Could he actually hear him, or was it that Sasori was still an asshole even when he was dead?

Tilting his head, the blond moved an inch closer. "No motels, okay. Just pick a random house out there. I'll get the people out so we have somewhere to stay.

"…Danna?" he nagged, waving his hands in front of Sasori. "Dannaaa-"

"I like it here." Sasori scowled, the connection between his eyes and the water inseparable. Yes, still an asshole. His tone was neutral as always and his emotionless mask of an expression was impossible to see through, but Deidara knew well enough to regard that response as a friendly greeting.

The bottom of his eyes crinkled into a smile. Things were so simple back then, weren't they? The only reasons he stayed up those days were thinking of how to drive his partner up the wall and to prove to him that his art was more superior. Happiness those days was simply silly arguments about art, him cracking up to Sasori's lame jokes, him watching the redhead suffered as he snatched his head and limbs were away, them smiling through bloodlessly peaceful moments and accepting challenges to destroy to the utmost of one's power. Who ever thought that one single tragedy could befall and thus turned his life into such a mess?

Yet that made up why he was so grateful for this journey. He didn't care the slightest about how he was given a second chance to relive his best memories and the first thing he did was to annoy Sasori. Frankly saying, that was all he wanted.

Coming back here near the end of his life, to this fateful night opened a whole new prospect to the blond terrorist. It reminded him of the transience of time, it allowed him to cherish more moments like this, to observe more and enjoy more the feeling of being alive, to grant happiness more in the littlest things, to love more and think even deeper. If he was going to live again, he would live it to the fullest.

A small snickering escaped his lips before he turned back to his partner, delighted in the redhead's very presence. Sasori was still unnerving, but even so, the blond was willing to drown in those cloudy eyes- so many emotions were trapped inside of those clouds. In battles, his stare could kill, piercing through every inch of your skin and swirled straight into the deepest part of your soul, but now it was utterly different. It was more calm, more relaxed. It was a wandering stare that traveled downstream, caressing the dapples that brought the shine of the water to a hue so homely. In other words, his eyes were _beautiful._

But that could never compare to how they glowed with warmth, shone with the lightened brown of parched summer soil when he turned to look at him, smirking. "What's with this sudden interest in my appearance, hmm?"

If Deidara hadn't been dead, he would have been _right now_ because of those lazily arched eyebrows and the curling of his lips. He stuttered out, "A-ah, because there's something on my- your face."

"Is there?" Sasori's smirk grew wider until it became a mischievous grin, "Or is it you finally comprehend the true beauty of art now?"

The blond leaned back and avoided his gaze. His partner was excellent at provoking him as he had always been. Deidara felt himself pulling an unimpressed face at his shameless statement. "Ew, no way."

"Come on," the puppeteer rolled his shoulders, his fingers distractedly twirling around a blade of grass. "You stared at me like you wanted to eat me alive."

A fine shudder ran across his body. "Ugh, don't get too ahead of yourself. Who would be attracted to a fucking piece of wood?"

He was. Apparently, he was.

Sasori laughed, finally taking his eyes off him. Tensions smoothed down, heart rate grew stable and embarrassment ebbed from Deidara's shoulders. Why was he so nervous, anyway?

"More like a piece of art!" the redhead snapped, but not in the usual grunt. His voice came to Deidara as somehow energetic, which was a relief. No surprise, Sasori had always been in a better mood when immersed in mother nature.

He stuck out his tongue, "Blah blah, same thing."

"Disrespectful brat."

"And you're a wrinkled 35-year-old man with a face of 15, which is creepier, un?"

Sasori shot the blond a murderous glare, "The creepiest thing here is your face!"

"More like your human puppets!" Deidara added, "Oh, I'm 35 and I play with dolls-"

"And you play with clay!" Sasori wiggled his brows, veins popping out of his forehead. "And worry about your hair all the time, and fly around on your clay bird naked, and wanted to have a pillow fight, and go into disguise so you can go trick and treat on Hallo-"

The bomber almost screamed, flinging his arms around wildly. "Ah ah! I just want to have fun!"

He grimaced when the only response Sasori gave him was a permanent mocking stare. "What? Even the baddest people need to have fun, un!"

"It's worst."

"Bad guys don't do grammar, un."

Deidara had to blink back tears. He missed this, he missed these silly times, not anger-ridden beating with Tobi. He missed _him_.

 _"_ _I miss you."_ Those words were stuck in his throat, forming a callous lump. Deidara choked on the words he swallowed.

"Brat," It seemed as if Sasori noticed the flicker of sadness in his eyes, as he moved closer and ruffled his hair. Deidara's face turned into a deep shade of crimson. "Really, you're just too… young."

Deidara wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't question. Sasori's eyes were back at the flowing stream, his face light-cast by the enchanted moonlight, but his expression was a lot more intriguing now that he was in contemplation. He had always left him like the end of a chapter of a book, in a cliff hanger, anticipating and craving for more, but that was precisely what made Deidara unable to get over him.

He was unpredictable. His danna, in his description, was the kind of person whom you saw quoting nonsense at a moment and mere seconds later mentally breaking down in the middle of a busy street. The kind of person whom you found awake at 4 am staring blankly at the white ceiling, reminiscing old memories of the once happy childhood or contemplating something 'peasants' like the blond wouldn't understand. The kind of person who could be uncommonly caring in his best of mood but trying his best to push you away when he's not feeling well. The kind of person who would get emotional all of a sudden and ask you dubious questions as if he was desperately searching for himself an answer. The kind of person who made you love and cherish him so much, yet your hatred towards him was wider than the largeness of sea.

For a long time which seemed like an eternity, the two of them sat together like that, besides the river bank, each one deep in their own thoughts. Silence covered the whole forest. The only sound that could be heard was the pleasant murmur of the streaming water and the tree leaves rustling in the summer wind.

The silence wasn't heavy or awkward. Instead, it was relaxing and peaceful, a silence between two longtime friends. They enjoyed the warmth of companionships, rather than the noise of chattering incessantly as they lowered their heads, listening to the soft melody nature offered.

"Hey," Sasori's voice was compassionate.

Deidara gulped, "Yeah, danna?"

"Have you ever felt lonely?" _There it goes again._

"Me? Lonely?" he repeated.

"Yes," he nodded, a sophisticated expression plastered across his face. "You."

That very "you." soaked deep. It struck him hard. It was such a simple question, coming out in a couldn't-be-more-random way, but as always, the bomber wasn't capable of finding an answer. He had always thought that artists are born loners, and that loneliness was just a tiny problem which didn't worth worrying about.

But now, everything seemed so different. Those words were strung together like a sick joke.

 _I'm all alone now._

He finally understood all the pain, the sufferings, the loneliness that was crawling, swirling uncontrollably inside of him.

"Dude, that guy is fucking crazy. How in the name of Jashin could you ever endure his terrible jokes, huh?"

"You'll get used to it, and then it got to the point when you even laugh at it."

"Woah, shit goes down." Hidan replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Right? Sometimes I wonder if I'm longer sane, un."

"There's no fucking thing as sanity here." The Jashinist laughed, slapping Deidara in the back. "We're all crazy fuckers, remember?"

He grinned, but his tone was noticeably bitter. "Almost forgot there."

There was a frown on Hidan's eyebrows as he said, "Jeez, stop acting like a pussy. It's gross."

"Am not." Deidara got back in the chair and looked at his friend, letting his legs dangle above the tile flooring. "I just wish it would have turned out differently, you know? I think if we had met at a different time, or we were older, or maybe we could've met somewhere else, it could have turned the way we wanted it to. Maybe then I wouldn't be sitting here telling you how much I miss his silly laugh and his beautiful smile, or his hair and how it was always all over the place. I don't think he brushed his hair. Ever." he snickered, "He was crazy. But so was I. I am, still. He brought out the best in me, though, and I miss him more every single day."

Deidara slowly put all the clay he had left into the mouth on his chest. His skin turned into a crystal-clear black color.

"This is it." The blond thought as his body step by step transforming into a bomb itself.

"This is the end."

"Why are you asking me that?" Deidara shuddered at the sound of his own voice. Much as he wished for this moment to freeze into everlastingness, it was imminent that everything would eventually come to an end. The now, the past, the memories, the reality, the hallucination were all mingled together in his brain. And he couldn't tell which was which.

"Answer it, brat."

"It's obvious. Why should I be?" Deidara glanced at the redhead, doubt igniting in his eyes. "Loneliness is a feeling. And feelings are unecessary, didn't you say so?"

Sasori nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah, you're right. Somethin's wrong with me today."

"I mean," the blond huffed, giving Sasori's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "as long as you're here with me, I won't be."

A strange yet warm feeling crept up to the blond's heart, the red heat rushing it way through his spine up to his cheeks. For the very first time, it was put into words, rolling off the tip of his tongue before he was even aware.

Sasori was silent at first, but then he was fighting a smile, "Is that so?"

His witty, arched eyebrows and smirk were often what worried the blond, but Sasori's kind look paralyzed him to the bones. He spent a good few seconds regaining his breaths before blurting out a reply. "Um... yeah!"

"I see."

Deidara looked down, feeling his stomach clenched. There wasn't much time left, and he needed to do something. Something to express his feelings, even though this Sasori was merely an illusion. This was his final chance before everything corrupted. This memory would be treasured deep down as his and his alone. Drawing a breath in, he carefully leaned closer and placed his hand on his partner's wooden one, but the sudden coldness caused him to retreat.

 _Who am I kidding?_ The artist smiled a bitter smile, running his fingers through his hair and flipping a handful backward. How come he always forgot that the puppeteer was no longer a human being? Or was the truth so painful that the bomber's mind refused to believe?

Sasori was cold. His heart was cold, his hands were cold and so was his whole body, but his smile warmed him in a way jacket couldn't. And in all honesty, to Deidara, it was all that mattered.

His slim fingers slithered their ways back, among his partner's ones. Deidara was half too embarrassed to look at him, half scared to see his reaction, so he tilted his head toward the already black sky.

"Look, danna." He pointed his finger at the sky, the shape of his lips resembling the crescent above. "Woah, the sky is full of stars tonight, beautiful huh?"

The freckled stars that hung and burned like millions of fireflies, shining brighter and brighter behind layers and layers of serene clouds above his head seemed almost surreal. Deidara grinned a childish grin, jerking back and forth like he was humming to the beat of a song. With extended arms, he reached up for one of those fairy lights, hoping to catch it in his hands for warmth and keep it in a jar.

 _If I made it, then will danna be as far?_

"This is the first time I have seen the sky with this much stars in my life!" Deidara cheered, "The forest isn't that bad after all, un!

There was meager hesitation in his voice, "...Danna, why don't you answe-"

When Deidara turned around, his partner was _fading_. His porcelain skin began to crack and fractures of his being were twirling up into non-existence. He bit his lips and lowered his head.

His shaky fingers intertwined with his, keeping as little space as possible. "Are you going back up there, again?"

Deidara no longer felt the warmth in those hands, and the gentle look Sasori painted on his face only built up his panic. "Danna!"

"I am, but I'll return-" Sasori pressed his forehead against Deidara's sweaty one, his regular dark eyes now gleamed in such a way Deidara (and the author) couldn't put into words. "-here, where I truly belong."

A genuine smile was tugged at the corners of his lips. And even when they were sitting under the sequin-silver stars like the scattered embers of a dying fire, illuminating the atramentous curtain, those simply didn't shine as bright as before.

* * *

 ** __xxlynnchanxx_**


	4. A Glimmer of Hope

**A Glimmer of Hope**

 _"_ _In death I shall_ _become art itself."_

Art was Deidara and Deidara was art. Art enabled him to find himself and lose himself at the same time. Art consoled who were broken by life. Art offered a sanctuary of beauty to an appaling world. Art used to be his only light of savior, but now when his partner had taken his departure, it remained one and forever it shall be. Becoming an artist was when he learned to conform and went absolutely off his rocker, but if insanity was every artist's fatal disease, then normal would be the last thing he wanted to be.

In humanity's erratic existence, where a fraction of seconds were all it took to drive someone's life into an unplanned direction, Deidara found his irresistible urge to _create_ the solitary lasting thing, one that he could depend upon and be definite that it would never betray his trust.

He had waited all his life for this moment, the atomic bomb that was himself detonating, annihilating everything within a ten kilometre radius and him laughing, basking in the glory of being remembered before disappearing again. Deidara felt the enormous flow of explosive chakra that manifested itself in his veins, devouring all of his being's strength left to mold power from the meridians of his heart. It felt so _fucking_ good, he had _delicious_ shivers running down his spine, igniting the smoldering flare of artistic desire long buried within the ashes of his soul.

 _Exploding. Burning. Embers raining down. Smearing blood splattering the world over. Jovially_ _caught in the gracious symmetry of a short-lived moment of an explosion. The slaughterous seismic wave that erased every traces of life upon this village. Body twitching and shaking in self-indulgence. Vision blurring. Life fading away from the root of his heart._

Those images filled Deidara's already hectic mind and inflated his already heinous thirst.

"It's almost time."

A maniac cackle broke away from the barriers that were his lips and came out loudly. The earth quaked under such madman's brutal, malicious laughter and even Sasuke found himself wincing at his opponent. Not so far away, the alarmed animals were in rushed preparation for a sudden migration on their instinct, but soon, they, along with the oblivious villagers would pray to brace themselves for a beauty no one had ever witnessed.

Seconds left, and they would be the honoured, the _chosen_ ones to be enticed in his ultimate C0 explosion, which would leave behind a scar on the very Earth unlike anything else. That was his goodbye kiss to the living, his last resort against the young Uchiha, the unique evidence of the existence of his once evanescent art. And then, he would receive more admiration as an artist that he had always hungered after, for even though instantaneous, his art set open the sightless eyes of pathetic human beings, it blessed the world with the truest form of beauty.

He would cease to exist, not in such a boring way like his danna did, but in grandeur and demolition, in animals' frantic wails and men's desperate pleas.

"Tremble! Be afraid! Recoil in despair! Cower in awe! And cry your heart out, because my art...is an EXPLOSION!"

The grating sound of a massive blast tore the stretching blue sky in half.

 _In that moment, Deidara realized he was finally being himself for the longest of time. In that moment, he was pleased. And in that moment, there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be._

* * *

When relishing in the cold embrace of death, Deidara had expected to wake up alongside Sasori. He would tackle him down the floor with a hug like he always did, and the redhead would scowl at him with his usual irritated voice and raised brows,

 _"_ _What took you so long?"_

But Deidara wouldn't let go no matter how hard his partner jerked away, he never did. And Sasori would only sigh in defeat as he pulled him closer into his arms. _"Tch. Why do you feel the need to cling to me every minute?"_

What was next, you wondered? The two of them would engage themselves in an animated and heated debate about their last moments, Deidara would jabbed at his partner with how he lost his life so pathetically and unartistically. And Sasori would _love_ to come back at him with how the blond was missing him so dearly since he was gone. _"Yes. You missed me, don't even try to deny it. I saw you visiting the lake every single day."_

And then the artistic duo would stay there, forever, in the heaven of arts and the heaven of their own.

And then they would spend all the time in the universe soaking in each other's affection, lazily watching as the mediocre, mundane life went by and judging, laughing at those idiotic beings from up there in the clouds, because at this instant, nothing could ever tear them apart.

 _And then, at last,_ they would be free. _And then_ they would be together. _And then_ they would be happy. _And then_ they would be able to feel love. _And then-_

The cold ground snatched Deidara away from his semi-perfect daydream as he awoken, throat dry and head aching with searing pain. An inky blackness surrounded him, swirling around his head and toying with his mind. His body was numb, limbs were heavy as if an invisible chain was being bounded on his legs.

Taste of bitterness dawdled at the tip of his tongue as he murmured, "Ne, danna...? Where are you?"

"But I'm dead, right? Then why-" Deidara put his hands on the ground which seemed flat and granite-like and pushed himself up. There were cracks of his joints snapping as he struggled to stand up straight. "... Is it hell?"

 _It must be, foolish_. He should have seen that coming. There was no mercy for a heartless murderer and assassin as he was. There was no such thing called happiness in compensation for all the breaths he had taken away.

Memories- puzzle pieces of his unscrupulous life were strewn out in front of his eyes, as an old, black-and-white film roll playing on a tarnished projector. From the day when he was born, cradled in his mother's arms, the pre-chaotic days of his childhood before his family crumbled, the explosion that swathed the house in fire, the spontaneous, art-immersed time as a nukenin to the most painful remembrance in the criminal organization- the Akatsuki.

Hitting him with a whip until red marks imprinted on his skin, violating him till he was out of breath, Deidara could endure that. But emotional abuse, well-

The last journey with the illusory Sasori was more than enough.

Sasori was a puppet, Deidara was a human.

Sasori was made from wood, Deidara was created from flesh and blood.

Sasori was immortal, Deidara was fettered by a mortal lifespan.

 _Stop hoping. Stop dreaming. Nothing will work out._ No matter how many times he reminded himself of the fact, in the end, the blond still found himself frantically seeking for the crinkling warmth behind those stony eyes, the tenderness inside that timber puppet shell.

* * *

"Sasori no danna, but don't you feel anything ?"

"I told you, I don't." Sasori scowled, staring at _him_ across the room. "All my emotions have watered down to almost nothingness."

"Well? Even with me, un?"

"If that's the case," he averted his eyes. "Then maybe a little bit."

* * *

Their love was a strange one, an alien concept. It was forbidden. It was troublesome. It was ridiculous. It was an irony that would end in nothing but awe and regrets. But why did they keep trying?

* * *

"Danna!" Deidara whined. "We're about to run out of firewood!"

There was a small twisting sound of the redhead examining his new puppet's arm. "Then go into the forest and get some."

"But what if I get lost? It's so fucking dark, un!"

"Not really what an Akatsuki member would say. " he replied with disinterest.

"Wood huh?"

Deidara stood up, grabbed his partner and threw him into the fire.

* * *

 _"_ _It's hopeless, isn't it?"_

After all, what kind of person would fall in love with a detached puppet?

And how come a marionette could have feelings for a human being?

Deidara choked back the cry that was caught in the depth of his throat. He gagged while clenching his hands, his expression falling into a darker shade.

Had his life ended perfectly the way he wanted it to be? Or was it an empty vain, vanishing into utter nothingness? There were actions that were left undone. So many words were left unsaid. A promise that was left unfulfilled _._

No. NO. He couldn't end up here. With his partner's presence absent, he was not at all mentally stable for the afterlife just yet _._

Deidara ran, ran and ran towards the glimmering light. An awful weight pressed onto his shoulders, his existence fading with each step he pursued, pain shooting through his legs like a range of bullets.

He outstretched his arm forward, reaching for the light that was going to extinguish.

"Please, please, please." he cried. "Destiny, one more time."

 **One more time** to _see that beautiful smile, to hear that calm voice calling him 'brat', to argue over the meaning of art, to feel the warmth inside the coldness of someone's hands._

The closer he got to his target, the clearer it appeared reflecting against the blue orbs of his own. Not a bulb, a blaring flame nor an exit path, only a tiny piece of glistening crystal floating amidst the gloomy backdrop.

He reached out and got the crystal in his hand, but it soon exploded into millions of white sparks, escaping from the gaps between his fingers. The sparks surrounded his body like beautiful fireworks, tingling his skin and lifting him off the ground, as light as a feather.

Deidara smiled. And in a blink of an eye, the world turned blank.

 **1 ,2, 3.**

 **[ RESET. ]**

* * *

 **_xxlynnchanxx**


	5. A Stranger

**A Stranger**

 _" Tik tok. Tik tok."_

 _The clock has stopped. Where is your eternity?_

 _"_ _Katsu!"_

 _The world goes on. Where is your transience?_

 __Tumbrl_

* * *

"Deidara-nii! Deidara-nii!" A girlish voice called out, sending thrills down his spine.

 _Shall_ _our fates intertwine?_

Deidara woke like he was hooked up the mains. No sleepiness, no slow warming up, only drinking in the feedback of all his senses and eyes snapping open as if he had just roused from the death. Within seconds of realizing he was conscious the blond had sat up, sweat-covered, grabbing the girl's slender hand that pressed against his cheek. The radiant sun's rays strained his eyes a little, the air was cool with its loamy fragrance, the feeling of her skin against his was fresh. Those were enough for Deidara to conclude that he was still alive.

 _The wheel circles round and round until the hand strikes._

"Ack! Nii-chan-" she let out a small yelp. Only when had the bomber yanked his hand away in shock.

"Deidara-nii..." With the sharp glint in her eyes and the grumpy tone in her words, Deidara knew he was in trouble. "What is wrong with you, idiot!?"

Deidara's drowsy condition didn't help him much with fending off his sister's attack. The only reaction he managed to pull was a tiny gasp as she slapped him across his face with the shirt in her hand then twirled it around his neck. "I told you to get enough sleep! Who the hell passes out in the middle of the conversation, huh?"

"I-I'm sorry, Kuro!" He slithered his fingers into the fabric and jerked it out. "But h-hey, I didn't know you were so powerful- "

His words were cut off by pale face as she strangled without mercy. Deidara squirmed, gagging from time to time in his sister's grip that kept tightening. The colours were drained out of his face.

The instant the horrifying torture ended and she removed the halter which etched a red streak around his neck, the blond jumped down the floor like a bat out of hell. Deidara turned his head around, feeling like it might break.

With puckered brows and gnashed teeth, he barked, "You little- I could've died, un!"

Deidara's fingers traveled to his neck and scratched the sore mark. Normally they would have been in a fight after that, but what he needed was solitude, some space for his own. So Deidara made the best annoyed face he could and wandered his gaze around the disorganized room, from his game CDs collection littered on the wooden floor to his favorite explosion-patterned boxer lying on the bed. Things were becoming more vivid. He was indeed Deidara of Iwa, adopted grandchild of the Great Tsuchikage, brother of Kamizuru Kurotsuchi, and an aspiring artist in preparation for his trip to pursue his career, but why did he feel like something was missing? Something like a fragment of memory. Something odd. Something that gave off that blood-curling feeling of breaking away from hell when he woke from that heavy slumber.

Deidara shuddered at the thought. In his head were frenzied questions, but all of those died away the moment he looked up to meet Kurotsuchi's eyes - the bottomless pools of darkness that drilled into his. She was staring at him in silence. Smiling softly, Deidara walked over to her spot.

"Hey Kuro!" the blond stroke her silky hair with his right hand, while the other one trailed down to pinch his little sister's cheek. "Aren't you gonna be lonely when onii-chan left, un?"

He fiddled with her short, spiky hair with a wide grin plastered on his face. A handful of hair was caught in his hands as he styled it in various silly ways, all while laughing like a drain. "Heh, do you remember we used to do this while bathing together?"

Kurotsuchi grabbed his wrist, "You mean the majestically failed Bathroom Poolization Operation ?... And sensei chasing us around the streets with a broom afterward…"

"No.36 is ready at your command, un!" Deidara's tone was sugary like he was coaxing a child. "Should I go downstairs to watch for the enemy, Black Cat commander?"

"Ah… Black Cat. How silly that was." she said, flashing him a nasty look, "You know, sometimes I wonder if I'm the younger one."

"You're acting just like sensei, un."

"So I'm a stingy and cranky old man now?"

"And conceited."

"And bigheaded."

"Couldn't have forgot that."

The two burst out laughing, naming all the titles they had for their grandfather/ teacher. These memories were always recalled with laughter, but Deidara didn't think it would be accompanied by bittersweet nostalgia today. He hated leaving home, but at least he had a home now – a very dear one.

"You know Kuro..." he said with his arms crossed. "When I become _the greatest artist of all time_ , millions of fangirls will dream to see my face and you won't get the slightest chance, un!"

"Well isn't that great?" she giggled as their heads met in a bump. "The _Tsuchikage_ have better things to do than stalking her oh-so-famous brother."

There was this fleeting moment when the black-haired youth's voice seemed to trail, her gaze a sophisticated mix of sadness and nostalgia. Deidara soon found himself reflecting the same expression. He let go of the hair that was shifting his sister into a unicorn under his hand and pulled her into his arms, feeling Kurotsuchi breathing softly into his chest. The scruffy piles of clothes beside the siblings had long been left untouched.

* * *

It was ironic. Tsuchikage Onoki was a man of no artistic sense, adopting and teaching an apprentice that was filled with fantasies of art. Deidara found it funny: standing in front of his sensei with the suitcase clutched in his hand, refusing to believe that this old man with sewn lips was the one who yelled at him for ditching school to play with his _stupid_ clay. Onoki used to advise him to join the Explosion Corps and make use of his art to serve the village, but Deidara selfishly wished to serve his own yearning. Onoki wanted him to live a normal shinobi's life trapped inside the Tsuchigakure's walls, but Deidara believed he belonged there among the stars, within the blinding stage light and audience's thunderous applause. They clashed like fire and water, but those differences somehow formed a close-knit father-and-son relationship Deidara thought was hard to find.

"Sensei, thank you for all you've done." His palms began to sweat, heartbeat accelerating. "For putting up with me, for educating me and taking care of me... Thank you."

Deidara felt homesick when he had not yet taken a step beyond the doorstep.

"Just go," Onoki spoke with a stern countenance, "out of my view."

The guttural voice of his sensei startled Deidara as he turned side-way to his sister, who responded with an awkward smile and a sympathetic look. He clasped his hands behind his back, muscles getting tense. "Still mad, Jiji?"

"Just leave already!" There were veins popping out of the Tsuchikage's forehead when he stared up at his student. "Leave! We will save so much if you're not here anymore!"

"Ouch." Deidara tugged at his collar. Sensational words held little to no effect against the cranky elder, he figured, so 'violence' made the most suitable choice. Grinning like a goof, he shuffled towards Onoki with open arms.

The blood drained out Onoki's face. "H-Hey! My back-"

There were a few cracking sounds as he squeezed the petite old man. Even those curse words and spiteful remarks flying out of his mouth now meant nothing to Deidara but dramatic farewells. The sullen face Kurotsuchi pulled when he gave her a final speech about her responsibilities was nowhere out of the case either.

"... And if you _dare_ have a boyfriend, watch me flying straight from Ame back here with C3 in my hands-"

"Mou, leave already!" she swung to kick the bomber out of the house, passing the carpeted doorstep.

Deidara reached back, "And remember to give sensei medicine! Red, two times a day, after meal-"

"Blue, once every two days, before meals! And don't forget the vitamins! I know!"

The blond smiled at them, "See you soon, sensei, Kuro."

"Don't come back if you have not yet been successful." The Tsuchikage grunted, "We don't welcome losers."

"Ah, it looks like I'm not going to receive any love until I've succeeded, un." Deidara stood up, flicking off the dust on his clothes. The door that was once a brilliant auburn became brittle as it had faded in the sunlight; the seasons had taken their toll, baking it in summer, freezing in the coldest months. He ran his hand down to the elongated handle, skinny at the edges, thicker in the middle, memorizing the patina. Deidara had taken a lot of time to tour around his home, watching its every dusty corner with loving eyes, but it never seemed enough. He would miss the floor that creaked with each step he took, the water drops that leaked through the ceiling into his sleeping face, the hole his sensei punched on the wall, the sweet scent of lavender, the warm milk by the gentle flame, and of course, the remnants of his explosive experiments marking almost every place.

"Take care, Deidara," Onoki spoke, the ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. The bomber's stomach sank.

He felt the ghost of his childhood when he turned his heels against the two, but his steps idled. He looked at his family, then the stretching blue sky that promised so many spectacles he had yet discovered. He looked at the thin line that separated the sky and the earth and wondered what was waiting for him ahead. He looked at the houses, the trees, the people, the Tsuchigakure flag that fluttered in the wind on the top of the main quarter. He looked at his hands - the hands he hoped to make _differences_ and create _wonders_. Everything shrank into the sight of a person about to leave his hometown.

 _"_ _I'll become an amazing artist one day, Sensei! And then, you can go bragging to people about how proud you are to have a student like me!"_

 _"_ _Wait until I become the greatest artist of all time, assholes! I'll come back and defeat you all!"_

 _"_ _I am not a hooligan, I'm an artist!"_

"Thank you, sensei, Kurotsuchi." It was with a powerful desire burning in his eyes, an extreme seriousness on his features, a firm resolution in his statement that he walked away, a yellowish frame that blended into the vermillion background and faded amidst the flow of people. **_"Really, thank you."_**

* * *

"Whatever, whatever. It's because of you fucktard that we're late." Hidan turned his head, ignoring the other's whining. "Ah! Here is it!"

He slid the metal door open and the pair steered their course inside, hauling along their weighty suitcases. As soon as they had entered and put away their belongings, Hidan and Deidara promptly plopped onto their first-floor bunk beds which faced opposite. The bomber wiped his palm on his slick forehead, drawing away a handful of hair from falling onto his face.

"I'm so worn out, un."

"Whose fault was it, temee? Arriving exactly 1 minute before the train leaves!" the Jashinist hollered, proceeding to coat himself in a thick layer of blanket. His nose was stuffy and his voice was hoarse, but those didn't stop him from doing what he liked best (with the exception of his rituals), insulting his best friend. "Even Tobi wouldn't be so irresponsible!"

"Wow." But instead of feeling guilty, his companion laughed half-heartedly. "I came just in time, un. You know who else comes just in time? Superheroes. Dude."

"Wait until I recover, I'll take your head!"

"You're the one to say that? After slamming mine against the carriage's door?" Deidara couldn't help but laugh at Hidan's condition - red face burning with heat, runny nose and shivering figure cocooned inside his duvet. His eyes, as well as his smile only got brighter the more furious Hidan's glare became. "I didn't know immortals can catch a cold."

"Fuck off." Hidan folded his hands behind his head while sitting up, only to fall back mere seconds later. "D-Don't think that just because I'm sick I can't- ... Ah... Ah-choo!"

A chuckle echoed from the depth of the blond's throat, muffled by the sound of him digging through the bedside cabinet. His fingertips skimmed on the air-conditioner remote, momentarily feeling the dust on his skin before hitting the off button. He pulled out a pack of tissue from his pocket and offered it to the sniffing Jashinist. "Yes, yes, I know."

"L-Let's have a re-match this w-we-week." Hidan took it from him without hesitance, then reached for his medicine.

"You're gonna fill the ground with snot, un."

"With your tears, too."

"I only shed tears of victory."

The Jashinist opened his mouth to shout something back, preferably an offense, but the sound of the engine operating effortlessly took over his voice. His body shook, losing balance as the train started to set off. It took a plunge, inching forward at an excruciating pace. It rocked back and forth, its relentless whining and groaning comparable to a resident of any nursing home. While the sound disturbed Hidan and made him shrank even deeper into his nest, the blond enjoyed every second of the tranquil moment. He leaned back against the window, gazing at Iwagakure's scenery beyond the somewhat grimy glass.

The green forests, the stone houses, the footpath that corroded under the villagers' steps, the row of rolling mountains whose tops veiled behind a layer of white, the naughty group of children running and laughing in the playground,... all those things that blended together to form a single word "Home", passed by the bomber's eyes under the gentle sunlight of a peaceful afternoon, as slow as watching paint dry.

The more the train went forward, the farther he was from his lovely hometown. Deidara almost dropped the coke in his hand when he saw his well-familiar fans running along the rails, colorful flags waving in their hands and encouragements flying out of their mouths. His gaze that watched them from sprinting to halting, yelling fervently to gasping for breath was lingering, adoring, but not at all hesitant. His voice that shouted his promise was clear and firm. Once he turned his back, there would be no more longing but thriving passion.

Everyone placed reliance on him to shed lustre on the name of Iwagakure no Sato, and he at no time would disappoint.

* * *

Deidara spun around with delight sparked in his eyes and a grin plastered on his lips. "This is the first time I'm this far from home, un!"

"Seriously? The Great Tsuchikage couldn't afford you a fucking trip?"

He immediately defended his sensei, "Hey! He was busy, un."

Amegakure's beauty was unique, differing from other villages with its skyscraper buildings and odd-looking, intricate piped structures. Those colossal constructions surrounded the village in spiral pattern mirrored a large group of gigantic, daunting bodyguards protecting this place from any intruders. Everything was engulfed in blackness and sombreness as if some mischievous thieves had visited this place and stolen all its colours.

Catching his eyes first was the tallest building at the center of the village, each of its sides carved a bizarre humanoid face. Particularly the one to the south, with its long scarlet tongue stuck out like a poisonous serpent.

"It's not gloomy like it looks ya know." The Jashinist shoved his hands into his coat's front pocket, shuddering because of the cold. "A few years of renovation, and this place will be as lively as ever!

Hidan cracked a childlike smile, "How do I say this... I'm... kinda attached to it, you know. Like the first time I said this place is depressed as fuck, but after so many years of living here... Well..."

Deidara had to rubbed his eyes twice before answering, "So you can get attached to things, un!"

"You see me as a fucking killing machine or something, cunt?" replied Hidan in a threatening tone. He placed his folded arm on the bomber's head and weighed over him. "Lord Jashin would want your head on a plate."

"Pft, like he can." One could assume it was Deidara's voice that rang through the narrow alley, waking the villagers from their peaceful noon naps. "Bring it on, un!"

Two pair of eyes blinked in unison, a flash of defiance lit between them, and the two fought their ways back to the Akatsuki's apartment. Half way, because Hidan had to pause the match to sneeze. Deidara died laughing.

Water splashed, weapons clanked and clay bombs detonated along the damp road, in the drizzling rain. Nearly crashing into his friend in an abrupt halt, Deidara jumped at the serpent's head that jutted out above his head, its fixed eyes staring down at the village in an intimidating manner. He felt small under that stare.

"I don't know why suckers always see that statue as creepy." Hidan noted with a sneer, "Anyway, here we are!"

He slithered his arm through the golden gate's bars, about to pull the bolt to get them inside, but a warm, tender touch stopped him on the spot. Hidan stayed still and snickered under his breath.

"Well, to be welcomed home by Konan is such a pleasu-" exclaimed Hidan in a too gentleman tone.

"Ack-" The split of his wrist got Hidan screaming bloody murder, following by the horrified look of the slaphappy blond standing by his side. Deidara ran a wary eye across the victimized Hidan, knickers getting in a twist as a dark but visible pair of swirling Rinnegan pierced through the gate.

 _"_ _So,"_ the blond swallowed hard as the man spoke, _"I heard there was a explosion in the local pub. And I wonder who could that be?"_

* * *

 ** _Heyyy, thank you so much for your support the past few days. I really appreciate it! I'll do my best to improve my writing in the future ^^ Love ya_**

 ** __xxlynnchanxx_**


	6. A (not) Partner

**Chapter Six: A (not) Partner**

 _Something was wrong with his body._ That was the conclusion Deidara drew upon suffering from constant headaches and hallucinating on recent days. A lucent light radiated from the seven lurking figures as the door slid open. He thought it was common homesick, but now with these symptoms he wasn't so sure. Everything seemed familiar, so familiar it hurt. Everything started spinning. The Akatsuki uniform was inky black with a red interior and the same colored cloud pattern - the ghastly cloud staining with the blood of every Ame shinobi who had fallen in war. _The blood, the war, the death, the killing-_

"Oi!" Hidan slapped his back, frowning. "Don't tell me you're infected!"

Deidara barely pulled a smile, "It seems so."

" _So, I heard there was a baffling explosion in the local pub_." The one with red hair covering half of his face was standing in the middle, pinning them with his gaze. " _And I wonder who could that be?"_

Someone speaking in such assertive tone, dead warnings scraping every word and coating Hidan's face in white must be the leader - a powerful one. The pattern of his Rinnegan made Deidara's head spin; it was a high-class doujutsu he thought only existed in myths. An organization with such authoriative leader must not have less strong members - it was no surprise its name spread so much throughout the nation, proceeding to take over the whole Amegakure as its own territory. Even the Great Tsuchikage once warned him about their power, but Deidara held faith in his abilities enough to fill a part of the group.

"I-It's Deidara!" pointed Hidan.

The blond shot a dirty look at him that said " _watch_ " and bowed down, hand at his chest.

" _Yes_ , all the blame should be on me." Hidan was ashen with shock at first, but then he was silent in gratitude, commemorating his best friend's heroic sacrifice. Deidara had to swallow back the laugh bubbling in his throat. "I've caused a serious crime whose consequences might greatly affect you, the Amegakure God's reputation. For such sin, I wish to be punished under your almighty's hands, to be in deep reflection of my careless action and to repay for what I've done to the utmost of my ability. With all due respect, I understand that I was wrong, and to receive reprimands from one as powerful, humane and of great grandeur as you would be nothing more than a pleasure, un."

"I-It's fine, Deidara..." The red-haired man put a hand on his shoulder, his voice shaking like he was on the verge of tears. "Finally, there's someone who understands."

All these power-thirst shinobi were the same, so easy to read. "And Hidan," there was a glint - an electric one that sparked in Pain's eyes as his gaze fixed onto the pale Jashinist. The blond couldn't bear the urge to strike a victory pose from behind his shoulder. "We'll talk later."

The look on his friend's face was pure comical, battered with regret. "Hey! Hey! Are you seriously gonna fall for that cunt's trick!? Come on Nagato! I know you're better than th-"

"Hidan!" a graceful woman shushed. "Respect."

"I cannot believe this." Hidan said and ran outside, "This fucking organization is fucked up! You all are fucked up!"

With his mouth quirking lightly into a smirk, the blond gave a brief nod at Pain and strolled through the yard to get inside, their sandals making a rhythm against the stone path. He stepped on the short stairs leading into the apartment, his sky blue gaze scanning through the group of people, then observing each attentively. The introduction phase that the Leader insisted on had him dragging through, but their words once more deepened the unique, artistic and eccentric vibes radiating from these peculiar individuals. The Akatsuki was nothing but a fresh wind of inspiration.

Momentarily, he also wondered if the organization was so desperate that they had to dress up a fish in their uniform and call it a member. But as thoughtful a person as he was, he decided not to dwell on the subject.

"But I thought there are 9 members, un?" Deidara turned to whoever that was beside him. "And who am I going to be partnered with, can I know?"

The room would likely to be swamped in an awkward silence for eternity if it wasn't for a certain flytrap's voice that broke it. "Umm... Anyone see Sasori?"

* * *

 _"_ _Umm… Anyone saw Sasori?"_ The flytrap asked with a scowl. His worried-stiff voice sent surges of waves to stir up the motionless air hovering above them.

"I didn't."

"Godammi-" Faltering, Zetsu stumbled back and knocked his elbow into the edge of the dining table. The Jashinist, who had just been back, was earning himself a good laugh as he always did upon others' pain. "You're always like a shadow!"

"That's my style." half-shrugged the man with bright red hair.

Deidara blinked. It was either because he was too fast or too faint, like a silhouette which stretched into the night and slowly melted into blackness. His instinct failed to sense the stirring in the room's chakra (which rarely occurred), but now that his new partner was here, he was staggered by how frostiness and solitude radiated from the air around him. Never had the blond seen anyone with such dark, inconspicuous chakra type - the type that murdered without drawing blood.

"Shinobi specializing in puppetry are extremely skilled in shaping and hiding their chakra," said Kakuzu as if he had just read his mind, "take chakra strings as an example. Only other puppeteers or shinobi with high sensory perception are able to sense them immediately."

"Shut up, heathen!" Hidan grimaced, "Sasori is just dead inside, you know that!"

"He is correct." A blink after and the redhead had already stood in front of him, with Pain's pink manicured fingers motioning to his direction.

"Sasori, meet Deidara, your new partner. And Deidara, this is Sasori."

"Nice to meet you?" There was a pause in Deidara's greeting due to the sharp pain rising in his chest. His hand flicked through strands of hair and scratched the skin on the nape of his neck.

"Senpai? Are you okay? You look so red!" Tobi gently tapped his shoulder.

"I am." He wasn't. He could taste the anticipation in the air the floor was swaying under his feet. With a hand clutching the area of fabric which covered his left chest, Deidara looked down, forcing himself to regain his composure. Appearing weak at the first meeting with his partner was a big No.

The dream - nightmare he had this noon flashed through his mind, but it was too fast and cloudy (like his partner himself) to see anything but a blur of red. _It was always a tragic red_. He felt as if he were a burglar digging into the crate of short-lived remembrance, desperately seeking for anything relevant to this gloomy redhead, but found principally none. The treasure was the nightmare itself. It brought the thief a terror far greater than the fear of being cuffed. If not, why were these broken fragments of memory veered around and targeting their sharp edges at his neck? Why did he feel like falling? What, in all honesty, was missing?

Deidara hung his head and hoped his bang would partly cover the wince his face scrunched into. Something was off; hazy thoughts kept erupting and twitching. But whenever he attempted to look further, his chest ached as if someone's hand was squeezing, hammer pounding on the side of his head. Asthma didn't have these symptoms, and Kurotsuchi's strangling couldn't have been so lethal.

"Are you sick!? Or maybe-" the masked man's melodramatic voice echoed next to his left ear, creating goosebumps crawling on his skin. "Your heart skipped a beat seeing Sasori-senpai?

Tobi winked mischievously. "Ah ah, Tobi knows! Is it love at first sight?"

"Annoyed at first sight. That's what it's called when I first met you, un." With that being said and a menacing look on his face, Deidara managed to send his fanboy to silence. He didn't expect to gain appreciation the moment he joined the Akatsuki, but this certain Tobi clearly crept him out with his drooling and squeaky voice.

Sasori didn't seem to endure any pain seeing him, though. The fairly small-sized man looked up at him with a strangled expression. His lips opened slightly and there was a transitory frown of his eyebrows, but Deidara wasn't confident enough to define those as hints of surprise.

"Deidara?" The sound of his name rolling off his partner-to-be's tongue gave him chills. "The explosion-addicted brat in Iwa, correct?"

"You remember right." Konan smiled at him kindly, "Hidan told us about you."

"Ah… Hidan's friend. Nothing good will come out of that." the redhead remarked. Stony eyes flickered to size Deidara up entirely, from the broken hair sticking up at the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Deidara, on the other hand, wasn't sure how to react with an action as bold-faced as that.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this," sighed the stitched old man, "but please, stop checking people out. It's annoying… and gross."

"You can at least make it less obvious!" Konan added, a snarky smile plastered on her lips.

"That's right you gay little Pinocchio." As soon as the words escaped Hidan's mouth, the puppeteer tossed a kunai at him, which he dodged swiftly by shifting his body. But since it was connected with a thin, almost unseeable chakra string, Sasori twitched a finger and the weapon stabbed him in the skull at last.

The Akatsuki surely was violent. The kind of violence he liked.

"Oh no... No no no... No bleeding on the new carpet!" Kakuzu's screamed and rushed over to his injured partner, shoving a hand into his wound. "Fuck, Sasori. That was close."

He cursed, holding back the blood from flowing.

The redhead smirked in reply, turning back at him. "Well, I would like to call it 'examining', with my ability to assume what type of person you are with a single glance."

"Ohh." Deidara's mouth fell open in excitement, "What kind of person am I, then?"

His both arms raised and he tilted his head ever so lightly, "Everything of you screams annoying."

He said that with blank face and sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Deidara drew his lower lip between his teeth, his jaw clenching with tension. His partner was full of surprise. He observed him again, this time more focused, and lightly tapped his foot once a bored glare was sent into his direction. Differing from the boyish look the pajamas offered, Sasori's attitude showed the complete opposite- cold, ruthless, uncaring. Deidara was never an excellent ninja in terms of sensory or face-reading, but the voice in his head was persistent and unerring of the fact. After all, didn't the most dangerous wolves hide under the covers of innocent bunnies?

Rubbing his scratchy raw eyes with his sleeve, Sasori said in a bitter tone, "I'd like to mention that I'm not here for babysitting. You guys agree to let him join, so take responsibility in teaching the brat."

"And I'd like to remind you of the fact that you were 15 when you joined." Nagato raised a questioning brow.

"A very responsible 15."

"That broke the vase and hid it under the bed?"

"Excuse me."

The next thing they knew, the redhead's door had already been slammed close, following with a lock clicking in place. "Hope he won't slow me down."

Deidara couldn't help but stick out his tongue. "As if I would, un!"

* * *

"You're my teacher, then?"

"Temporarily." the Uchiha replied, rolling his sweater sleeves to the height of his elbows. "If you want someone to train with, feel free to ask. But that doesn't mean I have to take responsibility in training you whatsoever. Recruits have to improve themselves or receive some help from their partners. With Sasori, I suppose you have to stand on your own."

"I can do it myself, un." sighed Deidara. "I may lack some skill since I abandoned training a long time ago to pursue my career- ehem, hobby, but I'm fully capable of fighting, un!"

"Of course. You're S-ranked, aren't you?" A laugh escaped Itachi's lips as he started to stretch his arms and legs. "Sasori is always like that. Don't get worked up over his words."`

"I don't falter that easily, un."

The Uchiha smiled softly, "I think we're certain of that."

Deidara darted his eyes around like a fluttering sparrow tracking for its direction, so as to have an overview of what was going to be their battleground. Not like it was a massive and eye-catching arena, though. Only trees, trees, fucking terrifying blood-sucking insects whose sizes were enough to swallow an eagle, but that was about it. Located not so far from their hideout, encased in the coarsely wooden fence and electrified wires was the Amegakure's well-known forest, the habitat of which gave every ninja who came here the opportunity to take a test in endurance and bravery rather than actually training.

The forest was the orchestra of her own mind, playing one enchanting symphony after another. Her leaves dance to an unheard beat, whispering their songs to the blustery wind. Maybe that was the sound of nature, or maybe that was the sound of millions of animals and insects desperately trying to get laid, but that was far beside the point.

He stamped his feet on the damp, rich soil, cringing at the smell of earth tickling his nostrils. "Fuck. This place is disgusting."

"It's a tropical rainforest, what do you expect?"

"You know, waterfall, murmuring river, babbling brook, witches' broom... Stuff like that."

There was a sizable training ground under the Akatsuki's base as well, but they just had to send him to this ominous jungle in precaution of 'damage'. Bitch, there wouldn't be any damage, the whole place would be blown away by his ultimate art!

In fact, the bomber had already wasted a handful of C2 to clear up some space here sheltered in twisted branches and century-old oaks. Nothing shall prevent his way to perform art, especially ridiculously confined areas.

"This has everything you need." Itachi pulled out under his shirt a book with a size comparable to an ancient historic novella, only to throw it away mere seconds later. "But no one, except me, ever reads it, so I'll tell you all the basics."

"The serious one, huh?"

"You'll need three things: a cloak, a kanji ring, a straw hat and nail polish. Yours is black."

"That's four, un."

"My counting ability is not to be concerned right now." the Uchiha answered nonchalantly, handing the blond the mentioned objects one by one. "Oh, here's the most important thing, the weekly chore schedule."

"God no..." the blond whined. Chores were inevitable even when he was away from home.

It was with a furrow of his brows and a deep, sharp breath that Itachi began his lesson. "Akatsuki is one feared-throughout-the-nation mercenary group consisting of S-ranked shinobi, as known as the head of Amegakure. We gain salary from missions and tasks as other villages do, but members are allowed to have freedom of action- meaning that you're allowed to do side-jobs, bounty hunting or whatever you want to do as long as it obeys the rules. You and Sasori work as a team. I repeat, a team. Partners within each pair are chosen carefully depending on their abilities and compatibility, so no, you can't change your partner."

"Damn." Deidara hissed.

"There are billions of rules in that book, but as long as you don't betray us, kill any member or break any furniture, you'll live. Any questions, Deidara?"

"Yeah. Why do we have to paint our nails?"

"To fancy our enemies with our fabulousness, I think..."

"Is Kisame a fish?"

"No, he's a shark. Take note."

"Why do we have to wear straw hats while anyone can recognize us with our cloaks?"

"To avoid unnecessary attention or heart attacks."

"Why does your sweater have Sasuke written on it?"

"…Okay, that's enough. Let's get to training." Itachi looked away, clasping his hands together behind his back. His voice was enthusiastic in an unnatural way. "Taijutsu training, to be exact!"

"Finally! The fun part!"

The air hung a little heavier with tension above their heads, and below there in the soggy surface laid the motionless soles of two pairs of ninja sandals.

"No explosions, got it?" the teacher said.

"Aye aye commander!"

Itachi pressed his palm against his cheek, "We're ninjas, not pirates."

The duo stood solidly across the vast expanse of forest, meticulously observing whether the other showed any sign of taking the first step, but it was the Uchiha who set on charging at Deidara before. The two shinobi launched off the ground in an alarming speed. There was a series of physical combat, repeated blows and dodges before Itachi pulled out a kunai and shove it at his neck. Deidara fell down, surprise dawned on his features. Itachi was insanely fast. In the assumption that he hadn't shielded against his opponent's attacks in time, his body rolling on the dirty soil, Deidara's life by now might not have been kept whole.

He scoffed, "Way to go, Itachi. Practicing taijutsu and using weapons."

"Weapons are counted too."

"So where are mines?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A ninja is always fully armed." Itachi retorted, pressing his weapon further. Deidara had to flee away to avoid injury, but the Uchiha caught up with his speed in a flash.

"Lucky my tolerance is quite good." He caught the kunai that came from behind, blood spilling down from his palm.

It was expected for the Uchiha's most prideful prodigy to drift in his steps, dominating the battlefield without even tinting his hand. But with this Iwa no Deidara, he would have.

A smirk found its way to the blond's lips as he flung a gas bomb and _shunshin_ 'ed from Itachi's sight. Cautiously hiding behind a tree, his hands flicked through a series of signs, "Earth Release: Hiding like a mole technique!"

He dug through earth channeled by chakra and planted underground mines at every place possible, while a clone above lured Itachi into his trap. The magnetic forces granted him the ability to pinpoint Itachi's exact location and action. There was a few C2 explosions before the real Itachi accepted that there was no way to handle Deidara without touching the ground and leaped down.

Deidara immediately went into action. He waited until the perfect time to punch his way through the ground and grab Itachi's ankle from below, pulling him down with him. Itachi's face as he crashed the ground was _delicious_. As soon as the C1 fleas had covered the Konoha-nin and restrained his movements, the blond smirked and switched his place with his Suicide Bomb Clone. His fingers twisted into hand seals, all the while making sure that his moves weren't stagnant enough for Itachi to process.

"Katsu!"

The massive amount of bombs would guarantee to take down even the strongest shinobi, but red-eyed crows flew out and filled his sight the moment slanted blue eyes lit up in feigned excitement. The light curve of Deidara's lips fell into the shadow of a frown. He was near the line of his plan being a complete success.

"I spare you a compliment, Deidara." the bomber tossed a clay spider in the voice's direction, yet Itachi dodged with ease. "Shinobi don't necessarily need to follow the rules,

The smile of the Uchiha prodigy was stiff. "but try not to kill your teacher next time, will you?"

"To die in my explosion is an honour." Deidara shifted his hand into the legendary Seal of Confrontation, and Itachi had to jump away before the mass of white creatures clung to him.

"You, really-" he grunted, eyes going red with Sharingan.

"It's not an everyday thing to battle against Uchiha Itachi, un." Deidara gave a cheeky grin as he jumped on his gigantic clay bird, which Itachi responded with a heavy sigh. "Let me enjoy this a little more."

* * *

"So?" Deidara lifted a brow, "Did I manage to tire you out by any chance, Mr. Uchiha Itachi?"

"A little." the blond scowled at the reply, seemingly unimpressed. Itachi smiled and shook his head. "Not any ninja is capable of wearing me out _a little_. With that genjutsu-resist scope, I'd say you have quite the potential. How about a rematch sometimes?"

As their gazes met, the duo's fists were also connected in a friendly bump. "Mark your words, un!"

Deidara pondered for a moment. Maybe the Uchiha weren't full of self-centered and power-thirsty bastards after all. Or was it those twisted sides what drove such potential shinobi like Itachi out of his family, his village, his chance of becoming the clan head into the Akatsuki? Other members must all had their reasons to leave their villages. Deidara wanted to know, and he was about to ask when Itachi pressed something hot against his palm.

"What the-" he yelled, feeling his skin burned. Deidara stared at the drink offered to him before accepting it with a sigh.

"Having some matcha tea with dango in this chilly weather is one of the best feelings in the world." Itachi said, carefully pouring out the hot green beverage from the silver kettle into his cup.

The bomber jerked backward, "Where did that even come from, un!?"

"This?" he stopped after savoring a sip, "It's one of Konoha's specialties that my mother always made for me and my brother when we were young. They said you never really visit Konoha without drinking the famous matcha tea."

"No, I mean the tea set-… Nevermind."

The warm liquid slid down into Deidara's throat as he took it all in, savoring the heat sitting on his tongue. He wasn't a fan of tea and coffee in general, but the flavor turned out rather fascinating. "Whoa, it's really good!"

"Right?" snickered the raven-haired man.

"Mind if I ask something?" he questioned, folding his legs casually and putting his hands on his laps.

Itachi gave a slight nod of approval as Deidara went on, "...Sasori, yeah, is he a normal person?"

There were lots of things he wanted to know the answer, but all could wait for later. His main concern now was with his new partner, his strange aura and how he was connected to the nightmare he had.

"I'm not sure. Maybe an alpaca."

"I'm serious, un!"

"Then maybe you should be less vague!"

Deidara sighed, "I mean, sure he's a functional human being. But there's something odd to it. I get headaches seeing him, it doesn't seem right."

"That guy is unreadable." Circling the drink in his hand, Itachi looked up at him with amusement lit in his eyes. "Check for yourself. What made you think he's not?"

"I just... feel that there's something really strange about him. He's dark, and his chakra was colder than anyone I've seen before." Sasori wasn't here for a jump scare, but Deidara found it impossible to say and think whole. Words coming out of his mouth were hesitant, broken to fragments and interjected by his thoughts - like how memories of his dream were shattered everywhere, bringing him soaring headache whenever there was the littlest hint that brought him back to it. "Or maybe it's me who was insane, haha…"

Was it wise asking something like this? Itachi might have thought he was insane. But again, he needed answers. The Akatsuki, Akasuna no Sasori, the bloody battlefield swamped in a tragic red, all were more or less related to the mystery.

Itachi's look confirmed his thought. But after a few seconds of wide-eyes, his mouth stretched and he blew out a laugh, "That's our Sasori for you."

Deidara's expression softened as he leaned back against the clay bird's head. "So he's just naturally that way, huh…"

"Why were you so shook? I thought I accidentally cast genjutsu over you or something!" exclaimed Itachi, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "Maybe there _is_ something wrong with you and Sasori, seeing you've been acting weird since your first meeting. There are many who are scared of him, but I don't expect you to-"

The blond raised from his leaning position immediately. "I'm just tired, un!"

 _"_ _Kuro has zero mercy for me, huh?"_ Deidara thought, his limbs stretching and finally hitting the flat surface. For now, he would believe in the simple explanation, that his sister's hit almost got him sent into a whole new dimension full of swirls and dull pain. That a restful sleep and all of these would be gone; _they must be._

"No need to worry, Deidara." It was ages since Deidara ever heard anyone talking to him in such reassuring tone. "It won't be that hard for you to get along with him. Who knows, you can make miracles."

Deidara's eyes never lost their bright colour for longer than five minutes, and when they did it was like the sea clearing up after a storm. He chuckled, enjoying the wind brushing through his hair and observing the sprightly wildlife going on beneath. A bit more of explosions would make the best refreshment, but it was a luxury with his inadequate chakra reserve. "If even Hidan got along with that stingy old man, then I can do it too!"

"The Zombi Combi, eh?" Itachi asked, resting his chin on his palm. "It did take them about 2 years of loathing and craving to kill each other, but guess what, now they're one of the most effective teams in the Akatsuki! I never thought they would get along in the first place."

"In life, anything can happen, un."

"Sure thing." Itachi nodded at Deidara's sophisticated look. "A huge ass _Loxosceles Reclusa_ might be crawling on your hair right now and you won't even notice."

"What the hell does that even mean?" the bomber rolled his eyes.

"An air-breathing arthropod that has eight legs and chelicerae with fangs that inject venom. _"_

Deidara was baffled, "…Yeah. Excuse me?"

"Spider, Deidara." the Uchiha spoke through laughter, "It's a spider."

That day, history was made in the Amegakure's tropical forest when it recorded the loudest and most frightening scream ever in existence.

* * *

 ** __xxlynnchanxx_**


	7. A Brat

**Chapter Six: A Brat**

"Damn it! Open the door!"

Deidara wasn't aware of the time, but it felt like decades since him kicking and pounding on the door yet hadn't received a single reply. His limbs were sore from the training, throat dry from Itachi's heartless joke (he pushed him off the bird and had no idea where he was), head hammered with aches. All the blond craved was a hot bath and a sound sleep, but his partner _had to_ be such an asshole.

Leaning against the door, Deidara closed his eyes for a brief moment, pondering over all the hectic things that had taken place on his first day of recruitment. It was crazy how much one's life could change in a span of 24 hours.

A few hours ago, he was in his hometown with his family and now in a completely foreign village, joining a mercenary group and meeting all kinds of new people. A few hours ago, he was still frantic to chase his dying dream and now the path had lied right in front of his eyes, only waiting for him to lift his foot and stride forward. A few hours ago, he was still the Iwagakure's idiot who went around bragging about becoming an honored artist and now, that ridiculous daydream was going to turn into reality. If he tried hard enough, that was.

"Blondie, how's training?" came a resonant voice. "Don't tell me you got beaten by his little gay crows?"

Deidara knew who was talking without turning around. The corners of his lips quirked up as he rotated his scope, loosening the mechanical eye so he could take it off. "Not with this, un."

He back-slapped Hidan, who was fiddling with the key in his hand before jamming it into the lock. "Oh yeah, can I stay in your room for tonight – no, how about we become partners?

Hidan laughed heartlessly.

"Ah, it's such a good idea, un!"

"Finally, freed from the hags." The silver-haired man cracked a crooked grin, turning the doorknob and going in his room. Deidara followed. Part of him was wondering why Hidan was less loud and hyper than usual, then it stroke him: As Deidara attempted to step into his friend's room, the door slammed against his big toe.

"Bitch, I'd rather live with old hags than with you!" Hidan screamed. Deidara screamed as well, holding his feet.

A slight tinge of pain weaved in the bomber's expression before transforming into a rage. "Ugh! You're all bunch of assholes, un!"

"Oh yeah?" A bombastic screech slithered through the door crack, provoking chronic rings as it entered his ears. "Say that to the PS4 and Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare you have taken away, merciless assface!"

Deidara's brows knitted together. It seemed like Nagato did decide to cut off – if not, greatly lessen Hidan's earnings as a form of punishment. As if saving with Kakuzu wasn't tormenting enough. The earlier incident with his best friend might have slipped off his memory for god-knows-how-long if it was not for his friendly reminder. Gulping down the guilt, Deidara stepped closer and knocked, his voice mellowed into a feathery tone.

"Hidan…? Are you crying?" He pressed his ears against the surface and listened, but inside was utter silence.

One more problem to take care of. A sigh escaped his lips as he walked back to his room and stared at the entrance. The sight of a closed door had never been so irritating. If words held no effect on his partner, it was time for violence. Deidara was near the line of exploding as he reached for his clay, but a creaking sound rang the instant his fingers brushed against his pouch.

First, it was only crimson hair and an eye that peaked out, then Sasori's whole form revealed behind the wooden door.

"That sure took you long." he hissed.

"What can I say? I didn't hear you." Sasori's hand was firm on the metal knob as he pulled the door backward, clearing the way for the blond to step in. "We were having quite a party back there."

"Wow! It's burning up in here!" exclaimed Deidara, gazing around the well-organized room with no traces of a frenetic social gathering aside from the ligneous body parts lying in lumps on his desk, and some puppets on the wall. He plucked at the collar of his jersey and gently tugged at it.

"Wanna join?" Sasori's voice was acidic, sleek yet poisonous like a scorpion's venom. Deidara turned to see him leaning against the doorframe, lips twitching upwards. There was something about the way he smirked, the way he ran his fingers through his messy hair, the way his gaze bored into him that left him wordless. His grayish brown eyes rimmed with long, dark eyelashes that brushed his cheeks every time they went closed, were so bland, so still, so empty. Eyes were the window to the soul, and his partner looked dead.

Deidara glanced at the collection of limbs, then his roommate and shook his head. "No thanks. I would prefer to party with actual people, un."

"They will be-" the redhead motioned to his desk. "after a little more adjustment."

"W-What?"

"Joking," Sasori said as Deidara let out a sigh of relief. "no need to look that terrified."

"You sure have a twisted sense of humor, don't you?" Was this how people here act to freak out newbies? Natives telling stories to scare tourists, old employees making fun of new ones – things like that were common everywhere.

"It's a pity you refused." Sasori walked leisurely to his working place and sat down on his chair. He was no longer in his pajamas, the blond noticed, perhaps because he was embarrassed to be seen in those. "To be engrossed in my art is a wonderful thing."

Deidara licked his lips. "What kind of art do you plan to create with those, un?"

His skeptical eyes landed on his partner, who responded with a little smirk. He could have sworn it had never fully left his lips since he set a foot inside his room. "Puppetry, what else?"

"And you make them perform stuff, un?"

"Stories." Sasori scrunched up his nose. "I write stories and use my puppets to illustrate them."

"Why don't you be a screenwriter then?" Deidara asked. "Real people acting your story must feel better than lifeless pieces of wood, huh?"

"They are not lifeless!" There was a sudden rise in the puppeteer's voice. "No person could ever replicate the feeling of pulling the strings controlling my creations. No person can be as beautiful. And I cannot, or wish to collect people."

Deidara chuckled, which made Sasori's eyebrows furrowed in irritation. His partner seemed to think every work of his as human beings in flesh, and maybe treated them better than real people. When Sasori twirled the chakra strings on his puppet, his movements were fluid, effortless. When he brushed his fingers across the newly polished puppet hand, his touch was gentle and cherishing.

Guess every artist had this psycho blood in them.

"Relax. I'm joking, un."

Sasori twisted the screwdriver into the nail of a limb's joint, a squeaky sound that evaded the air between them. His knifelike voice resonated in the bomber's ears before bouncing off the walls and disintegrating into the thin air. "Let's see whether you'll be able to relax when I said explosions are pure garbage."

Deidara saw the barest gleam of playfulness – or he'd say, malice in his partner's eyes as he took a few steps back. "Ah, stop it! We're not kids anymore!"

"Have anyone told you that explosions kill people?"

"Have anyone told you that your puppets look like crappy sex dolls?"

Sasori blew out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, right. Who has sex with hardwood?"

"You look like you do." The blond provoked, "If your puppets are so human-like, why don't you just fuck them then?"

"Sounds like a nice idea."

Deidara smirked and turned his back to his partner. At least his future roommate wasn't fully a wet blanket, and wasn't he such a master in dripping a little sarcasm into his words?

He placed his bag on the table and dug through it. His hand delved into layers of necessities as he pulled them out one by one, strewing them on the floor. "True art is fleeting, a beauty captured in a single moment of an explosion. Yours is-"

"Eternal, withstanding the spite of time, passed through generations and generations with an everlasting beauty." Sasori replied with a hint of arrogance. He separated his gaze from the incomplete puppets and looked up at the blond, drumming his fingers against the wood. "I've never met anyone with such narrow outlook."

Art had never been a tame topic for the artist duo as flashes of lightning seemed to strike from their gazes. Eternal and fleeting were two contradictory terms, one rejecting another and vice versa. An artist 's pride was something so obstinate that one could make waver by a hair's breadth, and Deidara found it unacceptable having a partner whose art reached the peak of absurdity. He took on the responsibility for propagating true art to the mundane men, yet was startled by how shallow-minded Sasori was.

"Bullshit." Slamming his hand on the desk, Deidara gritted his teeth. "You call that artistic taste, un?"

"You call that a face?"

He shot a murderous glare at his partner, who remained calm nonetheless. "What's the point in living forever?"

The puppeteer shrugged, "Tell me, brat. What's different about dying the moment it was born?"

"You're not supposed to call me that!"

"Why can't a 26-year-old man call a probably-dropped-out-of-highschool boy as a brat?" Sasori retorted.

Deidara glowered, lips drawing back in a snarl. "No way… You look like 18, un!"

"And you look like… a woman?"

* * *

Sasori was an aloof, not at all easy-to-make-friends with kind of man; that was certain. But when first encountering the redhead, Deidara had not expect him to be a comeback machine in flesh– a rather surprising aspect of such inartistic human being. He was amazed, and he also grew extremely ill at ease whenever he was tongue-tied by his partner's witty remarks. After an animated exchange of insults, to resist the urge of jumping up and down in frustration, Deidara waved the redhead off and went for what he had been waiting all day to do – a hot, long bath. The rosy scent the bathroom gave and the warmth of his skin dipping in soapy water kept him losing track of time (Sasori had some high-quality air freshener!) He stepped out with a towel around his neck, feeling rejuvenated.

"Kuzu will go mad with the water bill." commented Sasori. He fixated his full attention on his unfinished work, the monotonous clank of hammer against nails growing steady under his force. "Also, don't wet my floor. It's tigerwood."

The Iwa-nin grinned, ruffling his hair so that a few drops fell onto the expensive flooring. "Our floor, un."

Sasori cringed.

Spending the night sorting out his belongings and arranging them, that was his intention until their room's ornaments drew him away. Sasori had kept it a plain, typical room divided into two halves: one decent for the puppeteer and one empty for himself – almost too plain for an artist. Everything rather than his desk was neatly arranged categorized into their rightful places along with diminutive decorations. In the corner laid an Akatsuki-cloaked puppet with a demon mask on its back, its appearance far from anything Deidara would consider eye-appealing. It did not fit the sex doll section for its bulky look; so he considered it as a wrinkled, grumpy old man with a severe case of Dowager's hump. It matched Sasori's personality perfectly.

There wouldn't have been such a distraction if it was not for a series of paintings hung in a line on the wall. They were a refreshing touch to the white-engulfed room, which Deidara would go as far as to flatter Sasori for his taste. Most were abstract ones, intriguing mixes of colours which he appreciated, but all served as background for the black-and-white portrait standing out emphatically. He honed in on the art form before blurting out, "Anton, un!"

"Correct." Sasori whirled around in his swivel chair. He paused for a moment, probably wondering whether this would worth his time, and loosened his grip on the puppet arm. "You're smarter than I thought."

"Anton Aicher, born in 1859 and died in 1930, the founding Artistic Director of the Salzburg Marionette Theatre, one of the very first pioneers of modern puppetry. People call me a walking art dictionary, un." Deidara hollered with pride, a wide grin creeping up to his face. He might not be as good as others in some aspects, but when it came to art, he was proud to regard himself as a professional.

"You have five seconds," the redhead exclaimed, waggling his eyebrows. "Lissitzky, Rodchenko, Tatlin were artists representing which movement?"

"Constructivism. A Russian movement, influenced by modern machinery and technology and employed solid, geometric forms. Not that impressive." replied the bomber without a doubt. He took a few seconds regaining his breath after such information dumping.

Sasori clapped his hands as a sign of correctness, and Deidara thumped his fist in the air. He was a tad disappointed that all those years of fervent indulgence and thorough study were to be used only in a situation like this, but at the meantime waving his tail. He had waited for years to impress (not to boast, mind you) others with his vast knowledge, and nothing could compare the pleasure he got from the little game with Sasori.

Deidara would have been more content with rhapsodic praises, wide eyes and mouth gaping with shock; but for one like his partner, the faint hint of amusement on his face was enough for the blond to devour.

"Which modern artist is sometimes compared to Hopper for his tendency to display the anxiety, insecurity, and loneliness of middle America?"

"Eric Fischl, who created a stir in 2002 with a bronze sculpture of a nude woman helplessly falling, in memory of the destruction of the WTC on 9/11/01. The woman is represented as if she had jumped from the top of one of the towers, as many people did to escape the smoke and fire during 9/11. When the statue was displayed in New York City it drew crazy controversies, and finally got removed, which I think was such a waste. Something I could never understand, his creation was a masterpiece, un."

"Up to your thinking. But it is a very sensitive topic to some people." he replied, "Are you always so extra, brat?"

The bomber gave a mischevious wink. "It's hard living in this society when people care little about the beauty of art, you know. I never got a chance to show my genius side, un!"

"What a corrupt society we're staying in." Sasori drew in a sharp breath, "They think artists are some kind of mystic creatures alike."

"Damn, I've always known I'm a unicorn at heart." Deidara laughed and rolled his eyes. Sharing a room with a fellow artist wasn't too bad after all.

"Okay, here's the last one." announced Sasori.

The bomber almost doubled over on the floor. "Bring it on, un!"

"Don't get too excited." Sasori said, "Who's the champion of the art contest held by IAA in Konohagakure three years ago?"

A tricky one.

"Uh... let see…" Deidara stuttered. He wasn't fond of watching that program, especially after his failure there 5 years ago. Bad memories scarred. "…Hinata Hyuga?"

"She's not even an artist."

"I don't know, okay?"

"Guess what," the redhead twirled the screwdriver in his hand. "Akasuna no Sasori."

A minute of blank expression passed by before Deidara's face brightened in realization. "You're just trying to brag, un!"

"What? You can but I cannot?"

People were the most beautiful talking about the things they loved, and no exceptions were made for Sasori. His lips were no longer pressed in a hard line and his pose, gestures, words – everything was relaxed, if not casual. The easily-entertained Deidara soon fell into a pit of laughter.

"This is the best, un!" He had to clutch his stomach to stop snickering. Maybe it was his imagination, but he caught a glance of Sasori's expression softening and his lips turning into a tiny smile, too.

"Uh oh."

"What is it?" Deidara asked, "Did I interrupt your working plan or something, un?"

"Yes," Sasori answered bluntly. With a swift turn, he seated himself back onto the desk and grabbed the wooden arm, looming over it. "... And that's my dose of socialization for the day. In case there's food, leave me alone and do not talk to me in the following 48 hours."

Deidara blinked, then blinked again. A blink – that was all it took for his roommate to be back to the jerk he had a heart attack upon, for those words to scattered his hope and sent him back to the starting point. Sasori was back being a detached puppet, turning between a happy and dull expression like flipping a switch. His eyes flattened to the usual void of emotion and his slightly dynamic smirk died away faster than a candle flickering during a potent snowstorm.

His partner's movements were robotic. The occupied look he had, the change of tone in his voice, the little warmer and welcoming aura surrounding his body were binding proofs that he could actually have fun, actually enjoyed a company, but he pushed them all away. Like he was controlled. Like he was trapped. Like he was told to do so. Like he suddenly realized that he had shown too many emotions and needed to stop. Like he was scared of being happy for too long. Like it was a rule for him to keep that cold mask on his face.

Was happiness ever a crime?

Sasori was a puppeteer, yet he looked like a puppet, acted like a puppet and probably thought like a puppet as well. And the person who held the strings was no one else but himself.

In Deidara's view, he was not only wrong in terms of art but also in way of living – an incredibly foolish man. The blond put his arms on the redhead's desk and propped his chin on his palm. "Hey, Pinocchio."

"Say that again?" threatened Sasori.

"How about talking and trying to get to know each other a bit? I mean, I'm living with you for at least a year, un."

"How about pretending the other doesn't exist?" Deidara had brought about his offer with the sweetest face, but Sasori's fabricated smile was provoking. "You're even dumber than all the girls who agreed to hook up with Hidan if you want to 'get to know' me."

Deidara blew out his cheeks, "Man, you're no fun, un."

"I'm not here to entertain you." the puppeteer said in a demanding tone. His eyes had a sharp glint in them as he slid the handsaw across the surface, menacing his partner to stay away or having his face ripen by the sharpened device. "Come on, do I need to throw a stick for you to leave me alone?"

"Look over here once and I will, un."

As Sasori didn't say anything, the blond inched closer and started poking him. He giggled watching his roommate flinching in discomfort, expression hardening in concentration, jaws clenching but still determined of not turning his head. He must have been trying so hard to ignore him. But he would not last long, no one ever would. Pushing people's buttons and driving them to madness had always been this Deidara's special ability.

He snickered lightly, "Is physical interaction somehow your weakness?"

He poked his face. Poked his leg. Poked his stomach. Poked his shoulder. Poked his side. His finger was traveling everywhere, except for some specific areas, of course.

"I swear to God…" Sasori snapped his head in a full 90 degrees, so fast and sudden like the way a boneless doll in would turn to look at its victim. Forcefully snatching the blond's collar, he pulled him closer to his face, to the point that they could feel the other's breaths fanning against their skin. "If you do that one more time, I'll show you what real physical interaction is like."

"What're you going to do, un?" Deidara's smirk grew even wider, arrogant, fractious, challenging. He mocked, "Caress the hair on my legs?"

"I'm serious." his partner grunted, "Filthy brat, move away now or else."

"Name-calling, so fearsome!" A bright idea flashed across the bomber's mind. He kept the eye contact intense while sneaking his hand on his partner face. It was a gentle wipe on his cheek, the hand-mouth dragging its wet tongue on the fair skin and left it dripping with saliva. Sasori let out a shriek and tumbled, his bottom crashing against the floor.

Deidara couldn't stop laughing – surges of laughter coming in like waves of the sea. Even when he fell over with a thud, sitting face-to-face with a poker-faced Sasori, he kept pointing and laughing at him. "Oh my god! Really? With that kind of confidence?"

The bomber wasn't aware of how, and when he went limp on the floor.

* * *

 _ **_xxlynnchanxx**_


	8. An Aesthete

**An Aesthete**

When Deidara opened his eyes, enveloping him was all darkness. Eating him up was darkness. In front of him was darkness. Next to him was darkness. Under him was a _twisted_ darkness. The world was etched in charcoal, and the once vibrant hues of life were no more than a vivid dream.

However, above him, was not.

He stared emptily at the face that stared back at him with narrow eyes in rimmed glasses. The man smiled and touched his arm. On his hand the piece of metal shone, pricking against his skin.

"Don't worry. It won't hurt."

* * *

 _When a flash of annoyance came so did a bad idea_. Attempting to throw his partner out, that was Sasori's first.

By the time Deidara's hand-tongue came in contact with his face, Sasori didn't care whether he was driven by his wrath. The saliva made the skin on his cheek crawl, anger – an emotion he rarely displayed, coursing through every blood vessel. The only thing he saw was the bomber lingering like a nasty fly around his space. The only goal he set on fulfilling was swatting that fly with all his might – what he determined to do every sultry summer night.

As quiet as a cat on its paws, he climbed onto the couch and launched from it in Deidara's direction with a bat swaying in his hand. His eyes blazed with rare incitement as he took in the sight of his partner's ashen expression, aiming the weapon at his neck.

Deidara dodged - or he should have apprehended, slipped on the bed leg and fell. And that was where his second mistake emerged. There was this despairing attempt of his hands, at whose fingertips appeared chakra strings hooking up to the edge of the table to maintain balance, but even slender threads failed to resist the friction created by his body diving into the air. Thus he had an abrupt landing onto the white sheet - well, not _directly_ on the sheet, peppering wrinkles on its surface.

Legs tangled. His body lying on top of his partner's. Deidara's lips brushing against the side of his neck. It had been forever since the last time he was this dangerously close to a person that he forgot how it was like to have his skin against someone else's. That particular feeling had been initiating tremors to prickle up his spine, and this time was the same as ever. As soon as Deidara soft whine reached his ears, he unraveled himself from the dualistic muddle and rolled over in pure horror.

Sasori snuck a glance at the sleeping figure, the heart of whom thumped in accordance with slow, shallow breaths. He must have been dead tired to fall asleep at a time like this; which came out as no surprise regarding the fact he trained with an Uchiha. A bold and defenseless act still, Sasori would say.

With a hand under his back and the other under his legs, he lifted the blond up and walked out of their room.

The usual Sasori was a man of revenge, a man of not missing any chances to victimize others; but now, in the total darkness that kissed up to his skin closer than a mother and whispered excitement into his ears, watching the limp glint of moonlight that danced across the hall to shape a thin line on Deidara's face, he hesitated.

Hesitation was a massive No for an assassin. People hesitated because something held them back, but for the emotionless Puppet Master to hesitate to assault one he barely knew, what was it that brought him to a halt?

In that moment, Sasori was number than he would ever be. Hot sweat trickled down his cheeks, dripping from his chin and splashing against the floor – a tender sound that sliced through silence. A puppeteer was considered to have everything under his strings, but even the control over his body now Sasori didn't have. Every muscle felt tight, paralyzed. The only movement he managed to do was a slight curl of his mouth.

Sasori cracked a bitter smile and glared down, the hollow that was his eyes drilling into his sleeping partner. Him feeling something (even though vague) was greater than the fear of death. It left him vulnerable like standing naked in the frozen air, bleeding as the autumn wind nibbled at his skin with its invisible teeth. He licked the roof of his mouth, which felt as if swallowing sandpapers.

There was a soft rustle of clothes as Deidara hunched up, brows frowning from the uncomfortable position. Sasori lifted his partner's head up and let him nuzzle closer to his arm (while questioning his sanity). It was impossible to think that this blond here, wrapping in his own peaceful slumber, was the same person who tested his patience and drove him up the wall minutes earlier.

 _"_ _What are you doing?"_

Granted that he hadn't been paralyzed, the redhead swore he would have by now jumped out of his skin. "I swear I'm not burying my partn-"

"Shh," hushed the raspy voice behind him. "no worries, we're in the same boat."

"Here come the professional." Sasori retorted, "Any advice?"

"Bury the body around 10 feet down and then bury a dead animal a couple of feet above it as a misdirection, works every time." droned the man, his silhouette moving in the darkness. Oh, how Sasori loved the way they shared dark humour. "But first, stop standing there and get it over with."

"I will if I can." Sasori answered, "There has been a case of... hesitation?"

The puppeteer flinched upon the sound of his own voice, specifically, how the string of letters attached one after another to form such a word. Hesitation – ugh.

"You're not the type to hesitate to do these things. I mean, you never hesitate to hit me, or Hidan, or anyone before." Kakuzu said as he poured out a glass of water from beside the table. "Perhaps your hatred is not enough."

"Oh please. Don't get Uchiha on me."

A deep chuckle rang in the dim dining room. "But it's true. You don't dump people randomly, you dump the ones you hate."

The puppeteer rolled his eyes. "Wow, Kuzu. Real deep lesson. I didn't know."

"Does anyone in this house even know how to respect elders?"

"Yes, provided that he is not a multi-hearted, stitched and creepy-looking elder."

"Damn you and your sarcastic mouth, Sasori. I'm heading back to bed." said Kakuzu through his sleepy voice, "And really, if you don't want to throw him out of the window, take the kid back."

A bit of a conversation, and there was only him with Deidara again.

Determining that this ridiculous state needed to stop, Sasori focused chakra down his feet and forced them into function. Walking become easier with each step.

Maybe he just had a leg cramp?

"It always hurt."

The hair on the nape of his neck rose.

Millions of thoughts sprinted across the redhead's mind as he registered the expression on his roommate's face, which contorted to convey mixed emotions he couldn't comprehend. A second it was blank, a second later it was twitching with every muscle. Only Deidara's wide, unblinking eyes stayed still - staring at him, questioning him, threatening him.

Deidara devoured him with his gaze, and it was his scream that got Sasori's body to work on full capacity – heart drumming and legs running the way they did to reach the charger when his phone had 1% battery left. Pale-faced, he rushed back to his room, scattered whatever pieces of his dignity along the way and threw the bomber under layers of blanket. From the corner, Sasori took careful steps towards his semi-possessed partner, a hand on the wall and the other clutching his summoning scroll. God knows, he might have barged into the Jashinist's room to get the Bible.

The puppeteer was still on full alert when he sat down at the edge of the bed.

All those cautiousness, however, dwindled into non-existence as he looked at his partner, buried in his sweats and meaningless mumblings. Deidara trembled, convulsed, then thrashed. His fingers twitched in the very artistic – vehement way Sasori himself did when controlling his creations.

Sasori had never been taught how to comfort someone, and he tended not to – but he reached for the blond's hair and ran his numb fingers through the locks. His mother would always caress his hair whenever he woke up wailing over a nightmare. Even that slightest touch brought him shudders.

"Calm down." he whispered, holding his partner's hand.

Deidara stirred a little before opening his eyes – those void eyes that belong everywhere but on his face. His gaze which travelled around the room was empty and weary, to the point Sasori no longer saw himself in those blue irises. The blond remained in his drowsy state for a considerable while until noticing him, eyelashes fluttering at the hand that intertwined in his. The Suna-nin watched in silence as Deidara's expression transformed from hurt, disappointment, surprise to glancing at him sheepishly before turning away, pulling the cover over his face. His voice was impossible.

Who was he kidding? Deidara could turn into a zombie now and he wouldn't be that surprised.

"I'm fine, I just had a bad dream, un..."

Pangs of guilt rushed through his veins as he slumped against the bedhead, breathing out a sigh he didn't know he had been holding. He tightened his grip on Deidara's hand, who turned red in his desperate attempt to retreat.

From deep within his chest, through every cell of his body, the warmth welcomed him like an old friend.

* * *

Sadistic was not a wrong word to describe Sasori, precise to an extent, but somehow, he couldn't stay still after last night.

Visualizing Deidara's face when he was swathed in darkness, his blank eyes that stared up the ceiling, his voice – the shaky words of a man shameful of being seen in his weakest time made the puppeteer ache. He knew something was off about his partner from the moment they first met. Something beyond that disguise of a smile.

The redhead wanted to bang his head against the wall. _Unforgivable._ He had felt reluctance and remorse, felt the itch to reach out and protect the blond from the nightmare he himself created. Those heavy emotions that were supposed to be scathing thorns by his side, all over the course of a night.

"Why staring temptingly at the wall, you puppet freak?" Hidan's flippant voice passed by behind him, "Finally finding out your real sexual orientation?

A smirk played on his lips as he pulled out a chair and proceeded to sit on it. "Well, not that I'm surprised."

Sasori ignored the mock and switched his attention to Konan, who was in her Akatsuki apron frying eggs for breakfast. "Can you do my dish first? I'm bringing it into my room."

"No eating inside, Sasori." the violet-haired woman turned around with a spatula in her hand – a familiar image of the 10-membered family. "Sit your ass down and have breakfast with everybody."

The "family" members snickered behind his back as he replied, "It's for Deidara, actually. He had... a nightmare."

"Why the fuck do you feel the need to take care of him?" The redhead had never imagined that one day he would have to avoid the Jashinist's gaze. "You are suspicious!"

"Yeah, what did you do to the poor boy?" hummed Kakuzu, walking out of his room looking disorganized. He held up a finger then dragged it over his lips, and Sasori got a grip on the situation immediately.

He cursed under his breath, "That's too much!"

"That or having your embarrassing truth spilled." Sasori could read through Kakuzu's eyes and his complacent smirk. "100 ryo and my mouth is sealed."

"It _is_ stitched already." he snapped, breaking the connection. "Fine, I'll get you back for this."

From time to time Sasori found himself fantasizing about having the same calculating mind as the stingy bastard, who found a way to make money out of everything. A loudmouth airhead and a money addict made such a troublesome pair.

"Yeah! You want to poison him, right?" Hidan joined his partner, "If that's the case, I'd love to join."

Sasori cocked an eyebrow at the silver-haired man, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time I checked you guys are friends right?"

Hidan hollered, "Not anymore!"

"Come on, guys. Sasori is not that bad." Konan wrapped an arm around Sasori's shoulder and smiled, handing him his dish. "He cares about his partner, doesn't he?"

"Very." A corner of Sasori's lips twitched upward watching the smile slipping off the Jashinist's face. "Sorry, you can poison him anytime and I'm all in, but not today."

Knowing Konan would pull a disapproved face and boundless lecture after that, he escaped from her side and slithered through the dozy group to reach his room. A few clanking sound echoed inside as he revolved the knob.

The scene that welcomed him was a flushed blond sitting cross-legged on the bed, with his hands clasped behind his back and an awkward smile plastered on his face. Deidara slid his fingers through his massive bed head, trying to tame the locks down.

"Morning, un!"

It didn't help much, though, as Sasori approached him with the tray of food in his hands. Deidara appeared nervous, but Sasori guessed everyone would react the same were they be in his position. He decided against asking and laid out their breakfast on a small table on the bed.

"Eat up."

"Thanks, un." Deidara rolled over to his place and grabbed the silverware, "But shouldn't I, you know, have breakfast with everyone outside?"

Sasori tensed. "Yeah, I was just not sure whether you are okay-"

"Yeah, I don't remember much..." the blond cut out a piece in his omelet and put it in his mouth. "The nightmares have been coming after me a lot these days, un."

"You passed out." He said the truth, just not the total truth. However honest the words tasted bitter on the puppeteer's tongue. "That is not okay. Maybe you're under pressure?"

"Weird. Is the Akatsuki's heart-throb showing care, un?" Deidara grinned broadly, and it was a good misdirection – still not good enough for someone as observant as Sasori. He knew straight away that the bomber held secrets needing to be kept, and he was avoiding his question in order to do so. "Sasori-kun that, Sasori-kun there. Your fan letters sure are influential...

Influenced me to throw up."

Sasori grimaced, but deep within, his internal self breathed out a sigh of relief. This was his partner again. Not the reserved and reticent young man, not the frightened and trembling figure in his arms the night before, only the annoying, overconfident brat with a smug look pasted permanently on his face. When did he start to acknowledge Deidara as his partner, anyway?

For the first time, Sasori didn't feel the need to come back at somebody.

Sitting across him, Deidara was melting into the relaxed atmosphere hovering above their heads. His gaze from flickering downward switched to direct beyond the geometrical window and his expression softened to an almost gentle look, muscles losing their tension to the morning air. Images of the daily life passed by the crinkling corners of his eyes, sounds of the daily life were picked up by the side of his ears. From the metallic clatter of pots and pans, splutter of water from the bathroom faucet, aroma of pancakes wafting up the stairs, distant noise of people chatting (Hidan's cursing) to the chorus of birds breaking the drone of the city traffic. He looked peaceful like the clear morning after a storm, and Sasori allowed himself to enjoy the moment as well.

Deidara took a sip from his glass of milk then bit out a part of the chicken sandwich prepared specially for him. The process repeated itself over and over again until nothing was left on the tray and he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand, but Sasori simply couldn't avert his eyes elsewhere.

"Use this, brat." his voice tumbled out casually as he dropped a tissue on the table.

"Hurry, there's much work to do."

The blond looked up, his voice muffled by the chunk of food in his mouth. "What work?"

"The basics." winced Sasori, now in the middle of getting changed and sliding one arm into his coat. "Hurry, you're wasting my time."

"You're going to show me around? Anyway, you look like you're about to be suck in that black hole of a coat." Deidara smiled before rushing into the bathroom for his morning routine, only to peek out a moment later with a slightly confused look on his face. "Can I ask a question, un?"

His partner's brows twitched. "You have five seconds."

"About last night, did you-"

"Yes."

"So that wasn't a part of the nightmare after all, huh?" Deidara giggled and entered the bathroom, a little spring in his step. Sasori was free of doubt that he had recovered to his usual charismatic self. "That's too bad."

* * *

"For today, you'll need to do three things: touring around the house, painting your nails and get money from Kakuzu to furnish your roo – half of a room." Sasori informed, brushing his hand against the stair holder as he took hasty steps up.

Deidara quickly followed, "You're going to show me around, un?"

"Is that the only thing you care about?" said Sasori in a dry tone. If it hadn't been for that teamwork-makes-the-dream-work Nagato, he would have saved himself from a notable amount of troubles. He would have by now seated in his desk, gracefully painting new puppets in preparation for his next show, not fabricating theories while strolling along the second-floor hallway. "To answer your question, unfortunately, yes. The others will take a lot of time, so yeah, I suppose we have to tour the house first."

"You've been so nice to me it's weird, un."

Sasori threw his partner a witty glance. "You don't even know me that much."

"Enough to conclude that you're a ruthless bastard-" Deidara elbowed him after a short pause, "...on the outside but has a kind heart on the inside!"

Sasori cringed, "I think I'll stick with the ruthless bastard."

Deidara laughed, "I know you will."

Sasori was too occupied with his thoughts to even notice such a brilliant day it was in Amegakure – not until he glanced beyond the window slightly opened. Through the musky glass of three months of Tobi ditching cleaning, he saw the overjoyed flood of people marching on dry streets. He saw the somber village once again teeming with life, vivacious with movement and spirited in jollity. Brisk breezes slid through the glass, carrying tree leaves yellowed with time. Ponds were bathed in a golden hue by the gentle sunlight, the water within it as clear as crystal. On such a day, citizens was prompt to enjoy the blessed weather, before the wind again screamed, treetops bent, the icy water drops raced to touch the ground.

Sasori had to blink twice to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Such an imagination fuel nature was. He nodded mildly at the one walking behind him, pretending to listen to his babblings about some sort of secret room he saw on television. Today's and yesterday's Deidara seemed like different people.

"There is a secret way to the basement in my house too... Like, like you just twitch a statue's nose and a door appear, un!"

"Is that forbidden information?" the redhead saw a bit of his face on the gleaming window glass. "You live with Tsuchikage after all."

"Nah, it's filled with lewd manga, un."

Sasori chuckled, "That seems forbidden to me."

A tingling sensation tickled his palms. The blond really didn't strike him as the mysterious type at first, and he doubted anyone who had met his partner to think of him as anything further than a happy-go-lucky guy. But that certainly wasn't the case.

Sasori knocked his roommate's head. "Still not done with your speech? I'm getting tired of ignoring you."

"See? What a bastard, un." Deidara punched him, slightly. "Photosynthesis peabrain, un."

The puppeteer shoved him aside. "I never like swearing, but your way of doing it is rather... fancy."

"That's how the noble do things, fancily." Deidara grinned at him, a fleeting gesture before tilting to look beyond the window. Now that he was near the sun's brilliant rays, Sasori noticed how he seemed to glow. His golden hair caught the early morning light and shone in the way it would not have even on the brightest days of the Hidden Rain village.

He said after a moment's reflection, "Sunshine…" his brownish gaze, however, was not on the sun as he mused, "What a strange day."

"Do you think the village's welcoming me?"

"Amegakure isn't exactly what you'd call hospitable." Sasori replied blandly, "It's prone to scare people away more than welcoming them, and when it does it was with grumbles and wails."

"Told you," Deidara winked, "I'm noble, un."

Sasori's lips quirked up in a faint smirk, "How much on Nagato screaming and running outside?"

"I wouldn't risk." snickered the blond,"Is sunlight that rare here, un?"

The ghost of a smile lingered on Sasori's lips. "Yes, but we're working on that."

Deidara picked at his fingernails. "Really? How?"

"Go to the moon, meet Kaguya Otsutsuki – the Progenitor of Chakra, ask her where the spirit tree from which Madara's gunbai was made of thus create one for our own. Then use that to banish dark clouds from the land of Ame. Only by that way will the village be free from the incessant rain." Sasori stopped for a second to gather his breath, "Another way will be to reincarnate Madara, but that's too risky."

"...Sound like a massive plan, un." The bomber commented, poker-faced.

"That's too much information dumping for a new member." Sasori admitted, "Crazy, isn't it?"

"Cool! I want to meet Kagura too!" Deidara blurted out in excitement, "The Progenitor of Chakra... that means she can create chakra or something?"

"Right, I forget." Sasori pressed a palm to his face. "Of course you won't find it crazy."

"Don't be so down-to-earth," smiled Deidara, strand of golden hair twisting around his fingers. "it was like those myths sensei told me when I was young."

"Those are not completely myths."

Deidara bounced in excitement. Sasori took a step back and looked at his partner warily. "Seriously!? Tell me about it!"

"I'm not your history teacher." he frowned, accelerating his pace. "Get Nagato or something. I'm sure he'll be eager to tell you."

"But-"

"If you're going to be my partner, you'll have to learn to shut up after I've said no."

Deidara blew out his cheeks. "Can't you try to be a little more friendly, un?"

He mentally shrugged, "I'm actually very rude, as you can see, and I do not plan on changing it."

"Hmph, then can we visit the secret room now?"

"Let me tell you how it works, brat." Sasori said as a vein popped out the bomber's forehead, "I make the demands, you follow them."

Deidara roared, "You're not Leader! Don't tell me what to do!"

"Oh, but I am your instructor." he threatened, "So either you do what I said or never see that secret room of yours."

Sasori tugged on Deidara's sleeve and pulled him ahead, not wanting to waste any more time. "Ugh, let me go asshole!" he squirmed.

"We'll visit other rooms first." The redhead's voice deepened, "Now, be quiet if you want to hear about Kaguya."

The frown on Deidara's lips soon faltered, and he looked at him with a twinkle in his eyes.

* * *

"So you're saying that Rikudo Sennin chopped the Juubi into nine parts that are the bijuu today? And Madara can't pee someone if is behind him?"

"The latter is a myth indeed." Sasori said, drops of wisdom dribbling from his tongue. "But yeah, basically."

"Nice." exclaimed the blond, "This has been an educational tour so far, un."

The puppeteer looked down at his wrist. The gigantic, maze-like Akatsuki's headquarter took an eternity to visit all the rooms included – even with the exception of other pairs' ones. A partner like Deidara only made the journey worse. He replied to whatever he said with eagerness and curiosity. Amazement was permanent on his face as he skipped through the building, greeted the members passing by, dived into the sea of knowledge that was the library, jumped on every gym equipment and nearly leaped into the outdoor pool but for Sasori's up-to-the-minute interruption. Sasori was thrilled with joy to find that they were on the penultimate part of their house tour – the backyard.

"I'm starting to see the Tobi in you."

"Doesn't everyone have a little Tobi in them?" Deidara added with the barest hint of humour.

Sasori remembered himself of the early times looking at the brat, full of energy, amazed at everything and all. Now he was just tactless, offensive, painfully bitter and a bottomless void of emotion. He had reached that milestone of adulthood when hardly anything, other than the new seafood-flavored Aunt Jemina's waffles, could make him dropped his jaw in surprise. There had been a gaping hole inside – a callous stone in place of a heart of flesh.

A poker face, tiny smirk, and sarcasm was his equipment to get through life, and by life he meant mundane things – human and their actions. He admitted, sourly, that he was a little shaken yesterday upon the idea of an evil spirit possessing one mind, but had promptly rid himself of the thought. Still, the wound would take a significant time to heal.

But the lie _, oh_ , the lie was the worst part. Just the mere sound of it made the bile in his throat rise. The last thing the redhead wanted to do, after drinking in his grandmother's lie which caused his childhood trauma, was to utter one on his own. Sasori despised dishonesty. Period.

"Exhausted already?" Deidara called from ahead of him as Sasori realized he had stopped walking. "Oh well, take a rest. I'll go look around a little."

"It's not walking but keeping an eye on you that I find tiring."

"Let's head straight to the secret room after this, un!" cheered the blond, "That'll save lots of energy!"

"Cunning brat." The redhead muttered, leaning against the ancient oak tree. It was easy for him to go insane by the thought of being bound by responsibilities - the idea of his freedom being interposed, his space being invaded. He couldn't imagine living the rest of his life trying to cover the truth that he hurt somebody. He wouldn't. This was no perfect timing, but Akasuna Sasori had never known how to wait.

"I dumped you." With a deep inhale, he delivered his confession.

 _"_ _What."_

Deidara's eyes squinted as if he were connecting his words, sawing the string of information to attain a grasp of what was going on, before going blank. Not surprising regarding the way he said it. The monotonous tickings of his watch echoed in his ears as he waited, rather patiently, until he almost fell over when the blond let out a snort.

"We were never in that kind of relationship, un!"

Sasori was dumbstruck. "That's not what I mean." he kept his voice firm and clear, "You see, you didn't have a nightmare last night. If there was anything that scared you it was me, trying to throw you out into the backyard. But you woke up half-way and well, that turned out to be a failure."

His choice of words was short and concise, with no trailing or flowery speech to conceal the naked truth. This time, Sasori was sure his partner got the idea.

It was evident from how the laughter evaporated from Deidara's eyes, the playful look splattered across his features hardened. Sasori stood still, partly bored, yet ready for what to come. The bomber's hands twitched before curling into fists, his arms raising to the height of his face. His bang made it difficult to see, but Sasori had enough common sense to recognize his roommate was fuming under that cover. Deidara was suppressing like the inflating mouth of a volcano about to erupt, and God knew how deadly it would be when the hot lava broke out. Sasori hadn't been nor seen many in their vehement wrath, as much as he avoided being involved in dramas, yet he had this unnerving feeling that Deidara's anger would exceed his expectation.

When the redhead thought about the unexpected, he hadn't quite expected his partner to do _this_. He had expected the punching, broken nose and blood running down from his nostrils – basic drama materials, not Deidara fist unclenching and wiping a stream of filthy, muggy dirt across his face.

It took Sasori a full minute for the shock to register on his face. He brushed a finger against his cheek and shrank in disgust when seeing mud on his skin. The outcomes of him being touched by others, especially Deidara, were at no time positive.

Sasori wasn't sure whether he preferred Deidara to fly off the handle or pulling such prank on him. "Hah! I've been waiting forever to do this!"

A muscle in the redhead's jaw twitched in an attempt of resisting the irresistible urge to smash his partner's head against the nearest vase. Clearing his face not-so-effectively with a hand, he cocked an eyebrow at the easily-entertained blond.

"You knew this all along?"

"Yup. 1000 and Kakuzu spilled everything." Deidara shrugged as Sasori mumbled a damn. "He didn't realize I got his wallet, un."

"You evil thing."

"I've been called worse, un." Deidara laughed, but it soon died down as he shot the redhead a glare. "Whatever, I'm satisfied with my revenge. But dude, that was not very nic-"

"I know," Sasori interjected. "I'll try not to do it anymore."

"Only try, un?"

"If you're obedient."

"What are you? My mother?" Deidara hissed, "I'm sure as hell I won't let you do that once more."

Sasori had already formed the habit of assuming his partner was the Jashinist and Tobi combined, but Deidara was calmer than that. He said with a note of relief, "So you're not mad?"

The blond sighed. "I'm not very surprised hearing it the first time, actually."

However emotionally devoid, the Puppet Master was able to see the uneasiness in his partner. No one without a deep-rooted secret would have that light flickering in their eyes, that little crook at the corners of their lips.

He stared at his roommate – there were no thick layers his lackluster eyes couldn't see through. "This is only my guess, but are you afraid of the dark?"

There was only one thing worse than being dumped by purpose – being taken advantage of in purpose.

Deidara gasped, but his mouth soon stretched into a thin line. "You, my man, are sharp."

"Analyzing enemies' weaknesses is a vital skill."

"But hey, you know my weakness, I know yours. That makes us even then, un." the blond grinned.

"Apparently I don't have one, not Haphephobia."

The blond poked him.

"Damn it! Don't do that!"

"I'm not saying you have Haphephobia. It's just that being a normal human being makes you feel weak." Deidara crouched down on his feet. "Which you are."

His partner knew how to touch a raw nerve.

Sasori felt himself being drawn into Deidara instead of growing upset. His gaze followed the blond, falling onto a pink flower branch rising from the muddy earth beneath their feet. While he jumped on the weeded pathway for the sake of protecting his shoes, Deidara cupped the flower in his hand and twirled the blossoming head in his hand. A little smile was plastered on his face.

It reminded Sasori of how well Zetsu had taken care of his little corner – a mini garden jeweled with all kinds of flowers. In the air hung pollen floating like pixie dust, scattered by the blustery wind, the spearmint waft infesting within the patches even in this unusually chilly August. Sasori inhaled a lungful of baked-apple smell and turned his face upward, briefly closing his eyes. It would have been a waste not going out on a day like this.

"Sasori, un." his name had a strange, uncomfortable ring to it when coming out of Deidara's mouth.

Something soft tickled the inside of his hand, and Sasori peered down to see the blond placing the flower in his palm. It had this elegant and captivating feel to it – thriving in beauty, health, and vigor. It brought a true satisfaction to the art enthusiast as he sat down, lifting the flower up so he could examine it closely. The blushing petals circled and enveloped the conspicuous yellow stamens flawlessly, in the way an exquisite sculpture was made by the skillful hands of an artisan – in this case, nature itself. Sasori found it refreshing Deidara had interest in something other than ridiculous explosions.

"My destiny is in your hand." the bomber hummed an upbeat tune, "When you dig into it, flowers have some fascinating meanings, un."

Sasori nodded owlishly, trailing his fingertips across the delicate petals so that it did not touch his scuffed palm. The Camellia – as his partner informed – 's stem was the hue of spring grass and its brilliant pink petals so thin that even the air could shine through them, bestowing an earthly glow. It did bear a strong connection to its meaning, like a mortal's fragile, pathetic life, seeming to break with just a light touch. How reckless could one be to put their destiny in the hands of others?

"Hey, hey! Don't squish it!" Deidara's voice had a faint hint of panic. He glared at him and snatched the flower back protectively, cradling it like his first-born child. "You heartless monster, un."

It was Sasori's turn to smirk. "I've been called worse."

The puppeteer wondered what had made his partner's gaze so distant and hollow. Deidara sat in silence, a contemplating look passing over his face. But it didn't stay long.

"...It's her favorite, un."

"Girlfriend ?" Sasori raised a brow.

"I wish !" the bomber barked out a laugh, "It's my little sister, un."

"Ah, I see." the words slipped off the redhead's mouth, followed by instant regret. "My mother likes flowers too."

"She must be a lovely lady, un."

Sasori stared at the flower no longer in his grasp, his expression a blank page. _Did he just say that?_ Akasuna Sasori never talked about his family, not even about their names, ages, and occupations – what people typically asked, let alone their hobbies, their quirks, what they loved and despised – all those little things that made up an individual.

"Does she like nature in general, un?"

"Totally in love." he replied with hidden bitterness, "Dumping the housework to go watch the clouds, that kind of mom."

"That's just like me," Deidara chirped, "well... except the cloud watching part."

"Is that a failed attempt I see?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to find the connection here." Deidara moped.

Sasori couldn't stand looking at his partner, whose blue eyes were swirling with curiosity, questioning, exposing, drowning him among the waves. Would having a listening ear would make this rope a little looser around his neck? Would it make his parents' death less of a mental trauma? Certainly not. Nothing ever would. Surrounding by the fresh autumnal air, Sasori found it hard to breathe. Deidara had a slight smile plastered on his face, but his irritated eyes refused to see it as anything but an insult.

"The weather and land in Suna make it impossible to grow any kinds of plants. I lived in the time when seeing a flower bud amidst all the desert chaos is a pure sign of bliss." The more Sasori talked, the more his voice got caught in a low, raspy tone. "I used to spend hours outside finding flowers to bring home and failed, but one time I did and she was beyond delighted. But it died quickly. Flowers die too quickly. They are beautiful yet incomplete..."

"Here," the flowers by the time Sasori finished talking had transformed into a scruffily kneaded flower crown. He blinked at it, hesitant to reach out and got it into his hands. "Playing with Kuro can come in handy sometimes, huh? I'm still bad at it, but hey, tell her it's Deidara's gift from the Ame.

And not just Ame! When I get back to my village I'll bring Tsuchi's Mums too – there are loads of those in the forest. She'll definitely love it!"

Deidara's optimistic attitude was starting to get annoying. "Are you kidding? It's going to wither in a few days."

"Oh right. But I can make another one! Just tell me when you need it, un."

Sasori froze. There was another aspect of the story that Deidara wasn't aware of, however, that he hadn't spared his mother a thought ever since she died, let alone bringing things to her grave. That affectionate child that broke his legs climbing up Sunagakure's wall to collect cacti seeds was gone, that boy who pouted for cuddles and hugs was gone, that weeping kid curling up in the arms of Mother and Father was gone – now it was only Sasori, the competent Puppet Master, the poison expert, the deadly shinobi with blood dripping from his feet to tinge the sandy ground whenever he went. In this atrocious, hatred-driven shinobi world, people only cared about your achievements. In this luxurious celebrity life, people only cared about your good look, not your talent and creations alike. In this world, nobody batted an eye about how you feel.

He survived, for all emotions left within him had watered down to nothingness. But his partner was still too naïve, wasn't he ? No matter how hard he tried, Sasori doubted he would ever get a sliver of what was running through Deidara's head.

"Why would you do that?"

"I want to know how a mother is like, un." Deidara cast his eyes on his feet. Sasori had done some research before Deidara officially became an Akatsuki member, and if memory served right, the blond was adopted by the Tsuchikage from an orphanage.

"I guess it's kind of... nice."

"Right? I knew it." Deidara smiled, pushing the flower crown against his arm.

"But don't get any hopes. I no longer care about her anymore."

"Yeah, yeah." replied the bomber, rolling his eyes. "I'm giving it to her, not you, un."

"So what?" Sasori swallowed hard, "It's not like I'm going to visit her grave anymore."

Surprise swept over Deidara's face. He didn't look at him with pitiful eyes, nor did he bombard him with questions. He said something that made Sasori's face red with frustration.

"I'll give it to her then, un."

"Don't act like you know her." the redhead grunted, abruptly ending the topic. He straightened up and flicked off the dust on his pants, "Forget it, let's get this over with."

"You don't care about her, huh?" Deidara glared at him, showing no sign of submission. "Why make a fuss? It's just bringing some flowers to a _stranger's_ grave, un."

 ** _A stranger's grave._**

Damn. Sasori glared back through by the edge of his vision, his mouth twisting into half a smile. Other than that, he didn't know how to retort. Everything he said would go against him this time.

Shakily, he reached out for the crown. "Tch, you won't give up, will you?"

Deidara brightened. "It's fine, not everyone finds it easy discussing such private matter, un."

"So you have common sense after all..." Sasori smiled weakly. He swirled the colorful flower crown on his finger, noting how clumsy the flowers and leaves are braided together. Spikes were pointing out from verdant stems and occasionally brushed through his skin.

Sasori propped the flower crown on Deidara's head.

"Stop messing around, un."

"Stay still. I want to see how it looks."

Deidara clicked his tongue. "Jeez, you know these things don't go well with me..."

"No, it actually suits you."

"Shut up will you? Men don't do flower crowns, un."

It happened like an explosion. In a split moment, before Deidara tossed the crown at him, Sasori glanced up and was welcomed by crinkling eyes like a light turning on in a dark room. The bomber gave a lopsided grin that touched every place where the sun couldn't, and it shone in such a way that unexpected warmth rushed through the redhead.

Or was it the bizarre weather that caused hallucinations?

"Brat," Sasori blinked, and all was normal again. "Did you just pluck these flowers?"

Deidara soon found himself mirroring his partner's expression. "...Yeah. Something's the matter?"

"Run!" Sasori cried as both got on their feet. The last thing they saw and heard was a certain flytrap screaming in awe upon the large-scale massacre of his children.

* * *

Under the black, cloudy sky, wrapped in the night's cool air were two dirt-covered artists, committed to pay for all the innocent lives they – Deidara had stolen. The bomber sowed the flowerbed with seeds of camellia and used a small shovel to level the earth. Zetsu's fiery stare seemed to sting, driveling with acid from above his head. He dragged his forearm across his cheek before moving onto the next in dozens of patches.

"But what about the secret room, un?" whispered Deidara, inching closer to his partner.

"Shut up."

* * *

 _ **_xxlynnchanxx**_


	9. A Lunatic

**Chapter Eight: A Lunatic**

 ** _Who thought that in order to sustain in the Akatsuki, one had to familiarize himself with the reek of blood?_**

Waves of nausea layered up and formed a heavy blanket above the blond's head. In the distance, footsteps and mindless whistles rang. Deidara pinched the bridge of his nose as Hidan – the living form of Satan entered the room.

He said, using the basic icebreaker. "So? How many have you managed to sacrifice today, un?"

The Jashinist turned rigid at the sound of his voice. His eyebrows knitted, and his lips were pressed firmly against each other.

"You know, the things you always love to tell. How you get pleasure from having your ribs pierced through-"

"And how you can jerk off to a _glamorous_ explosion?" Hidan retorted with a growl, pulling a carton of milk out of the fridge and knocking it down his throat. Drops of white mingled with the stained blood on his half-exposed torso made a pretty pink. He carelessly wiped them with his hands – Konan would scowl at that.

"Ah, best kind of orgasm."

Hidan almost laughed, and choked, "You're fucked in the head!" He covered his mouth with his hand, but those crinkled eyes revealed it all. Deidara usually saw his friend laughing like a maniac - loud, highly-amused guffaws that sliced through the air; a bobbing head and pricking hand that smacked against his back. Seeing Hidan trying to be cool and emotionless was rather comical.

"Don't tell me Kakuzu doesn't have wet dreams about money all the time, un."

"Fuck, don't remind me!" the silver-haired man screw up his face. "But your partner is even more than that, you'll see! He's the most fucked up among us!"

A corner of Deidara's mouth raised. "Still trying to scare me, un?"

"You will not say that if you have sneaked into his puppet room at 2 am."

"Are you stalking him or something?" With crossed legs, he tilted to and fro while listening to his friend. "Now who's the creepy one?"

"Can you think of the possibilities?" the Jashinist insisted, "No one, like no one, has ever seen him with a chick. And he has hundreds of those chasing behind!"

Deidara said in a casual tone. "Doesn't that make him gay, though?" .Something that was not to be casually discussed.

As soon as the words left his mouth, bitter with a tad of sweetness from Konohagakure's matcha tea (he had fallen in love with it ever since the training session with Itachi), Deidara's face blanched from terror. He jumped out of the dining chair and stumbled backwards, crashing his head into the kitchen cupboard.

"No, no, that's worse, un!"

The sneaky smile on Hidan's face turned broader, his eyes gleaming an unhealthy gleam. He loomed over the petite blond using his sturdy shape. "Let me tell you what I saw-"

"Shut up!" Deidara faked a scream, "I don't want to hear that!"

"Sasori, he was-"

"I said shut up!"

Deidara waited until Hidan had pushed him against a wall, and withdrew a DVD case from his pocket. He tapped the thing against his friend's forehead, watching it slipping down into Hidan's hands in a soft clack. The silver-haired man rounded his eyes at the gift. He held the black DVD up to observe it more clearly. Under the kitchen's light, images and words on the DVD grew visible, and they seemed to glimmer against Hidan's eyes.

"The Lord of the Rings: The battle for Middle-earth…" Deidara started.

Hidan followed with enthusiasm, "... part two. The Rise of the Witch-king!"

"Fucking long-ass name, un."

The Jashinist gave him cautious stares. "You... bought this?"

"Electronic Arts is getting more and more greedy, man." sighed Deidara, "Welp, can you pay the shipping fee? I'm broke."

"You're a fucking terrific friend, Dei!" Hidan screeched, giving his back a slap that might have broken 37 of his vertebrae. Deidara supposed he would live the last days of his life with a humped back and an extreme case of Arthritis. "Don't worry about it! We can rob Kakuzu's bank at any time!"

A frown appeared between Deidara's brows. "Ouch, you don't need to break my back for me to know that I'm a good friend, un..."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm a little over-excited." Hidan smiled in such a genuine way it was cringy, yet it had been a while since Deidara last saw him grinning showing all rows of teeth. It was a rather nice feeling. Granted that human could be regarded as sites, his friend and his partner must have been the poles at opposite ends of Earth – one with a heart on his sleeve and one that was a bundle of mystery. Hidan was so much easier to handle, but a little mystery did bring a refreshing taste. Deidara couldn't tell which one he preferred more. "Come on, I'll show you where Sasori keeps his snacks at. Then we can eat while playing this baby!"

"You really do stalk him, don't you?"

"Trust me, I stalk everyone in this house."

"Where do I keep my snacks, I wonder?"

Deidara wouldn't be surprised if Sasori was standing behind him, but he did jump upon the appearance of an Akatsuki cloaked old man, who was an absolute mess. The man was either crouching or suffering from a severe hunchback, with a humanoid mask attached to his back and a questionably wry face. The blond gave him a skeptical look, "What the fuck are you!?"

The more he stared at the man, the more a sting in the eyes he became. How could a man appear so artless as that?

"Couldn't tell, brat?" With an attractiveness that was inferior to Sasori's sex dolls, he addressed him by such a disrespectful name. Brat. Who else called him brat? Endless scenarios would have been going through his head if it wasn't for Hidan's grabbing his arm.

"Oh fuck off! We need to go bonding our friendship." Hidan pulled him aside. "Beautiful, beautiful friendship."

The old man spoke in a disturbingly low voice, "What about the poison plan?"

Hidan paled for a second before stuttering, "Oops, I just realize I have to go iron... my... cat." Shoving the game CD deep into his pocket, the Jashinist vanished from the two's sight. "Let us flourish our friendship later!"

Deidara calmly took the last sip from his teacup, because nothing more than the warmth of brewing tea could keep his mind in order right now. After gulping the beverage in, he dragged his gaze down to look at the man beside him.

"So, what have you done with yourself? False plastic surgery?"

"Cut it out, you little piece of shit." The ugly Sasori sighed. "Five minutes from now, I expect you to present here fully clothed and equipped for your first mission."

* * *

The battleground was a complete chaos.

 _Clash. Clash. Clash_. Their swords swung almost incessantly, crashing against each other with their blades glinting in the dying light.

He continued to retreat, and they continued to advance. Clanking sound of metal clashing along with his clay bombs exploding echoed in pure harmony. A feast to both the eyes and the ears.

Deidara didn't rest for a second, for he knew he would then be covered in sweat. The perspiration surfaced on his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and ran in rivulets down his face until he became sodden, encased in parched heat. Fighting within the confined space of an underground cavern demanded a load of strength. It was one of those times when he found his bang so damn annoying, and how in the world could his partner even breathe properly in his puppet armor?

Hiruko, if memory served right. Sasori might have an attractive appearance – ehem, basically stating the facts here – dreamy eyes and mousy red hair that people worshipped, but that was all amounting to his values. His personality was as gloomy and ugly as the puppet he used as a disguise.

Deidara had jumped to that conclusion seeing the egomaniac shushin'-ing without a warning. When he turned his head, all was left was a bundle of hot air where Sasori was supposed to be strolling behind his back. Sasori, being him, had gone off on his way to search for the hidden scroll, leaving him alone as a bait. Or God knew, he might have been chewing on snacks and chilling in his air-conditioned Hiruko.

Holding up a smoke bomb in the air, Deidara prepared for his basic escape plan – through the ground. He dug and dug and dug, half way through the earth until being stopped by his partner's call.

"Brat! Come here!"

It was too fast to see. A sharpened blade glinted before slicing through his shoulder, neat and prompt like a knife through butter. Blood splattered, seeming to freeze mid-air. Then in his blurry vision, a red lump came. It plucked his lower body off the ground and carried him flying through the smoky chaos.

The flight ended with Deidara on the floor, blood on his shoulder and dust in his throat. He held up a hand to his mouth, turning to the red figure. "What the fuck was that, un!?"

A foot stomped on the ground. "I'm here." Deidara jerked his head in the direction of his partner's voice before turning back to the red-clothed puppet he had been talking to. He growled at Sasori, or should he say the bastard who had put him on the brink of death. The cut on his shoulder started to sting. Deidara tore along the dotted line a piece of cloth to cover it up. Sasori, now more apparent, crouched down and put a pink glowing hand on his bruise.

"I got the scroll." He said in an undertone. His gaze landed briefly on the troop of puppets fighting from afar before turning back, letting his other hand do the work. "You can rest now."

"Why the fuck did you leave me here, un?"

"To buy some time, what else?"

"Do you call that teamwork, un?"

"It is teamwork. Splitting up tasks."

"Only if you had told me first hand, you bastard."

Deidara shifted to a more comfortable position, his back a little hunching. The clashing sound of weapons faded into distance, and he could only focus on the feeling of his skin rejuvenating under his partner's aid.

"You're a medic?" he asked, breaths clogged with fatigue.

"Used to." Sasori replied with unblinking eyes. "But still skilled enough to deal with these small injuries, I guess."

"What am I doing?" Deidara huffed, "I'd rather talk with that puppet earlier, un."

"And I'd rather you be dead." the redhead raised a brow, "But that can't happen, correct?"

There was this thing that Deidara had been dwelling on ever since he became a member of the mercenary organization. That was Sasori's eyes never seemed to contain him, or anyone in that manner. He made zero eye contact during conversations, and almost everytime they talked he was too busy engrossing in something else. Most typically his puppets, a book, a plant, a little crack on the pavement's gravel block, a streak of orange that splattered across the sky of a late afternoon, an ant on its way to return home, anything but the person he was in company with. That must be the reason why people found it hard communicating with him; he wasn't even making the effort.

Quietly, Deidara lowered his head and smiled at him.

Sasori blinked and backed away, scowling at him with his eyebrows raised. The blond chuckled, "Heh, it's like you are afraid of people or something, un."

Sasori looked a little more human-like when he was annoyed, with scrunching nose, impersonal stare and silent curses. Not a puppet, just a very annoyed man. His arms dropped to his sides as he stood up. "Thank you, I'm disgusted by them."

Deidara mirrored his movements. "So now, as you have got what we need, let me-"

"Under one condition."

"Who cares?" the bomber rolled his eyes, "I'm blowing this place up anyway, un."

"Then would you care to do it as a collaboration?" Sasori held up a finger, "Before you jump on me, I'm only doing this to follow Nagato's order. He needs every pair to perform their combo move next week as an evidence for their teamwork."

He drew from his pocket a summoning scroll and flashed it open. Materializing itself from the smoke was a brown-capped puppet with black substance pouring out from its mouth. "And I think we may try it today... Only once that is."

"Combining my art with yours seems like an insult to me, un." Deidara commented, redoing his ponytail.

"Just to let you know, I feel completely the same."

He was lying, of course. The idea of combining two ever contradictory forms of art screamed astounding. For their arts to merge it was like the sun and the moon colliding, scarce yet extraordinarily odd. Not to mention fatal.

"Bring out the best you've got, brat." Sasori provoked, "We have to make this big."

Deidara barked and puffed out his chest in pride. An excessive amount of clay gushed out from his hand-mouths, and in a blink of an eye, in front of the two artists was already the gigantic C3 dragon, whose form created a shield to separate them from the gang of thieves.

Deidara looked sideways to his partner, who was, either intentionally or accidentally, glancing at him. On no occasion had he seen the redhead's gaze so pretentious. Idling and thrilling. So, so filled with this stirring sensation Deidara thought he might explode.

"You look over-excited." Sasori said in a wary voice, "Please don't, nothing good happens when you're excited."

Somehow, it wasn't solely a combination attack, but a competition. Thus it was time for Sasori to take over the spotlight. With a brandish of his hand, black ashes evolved into massive black clouds hovering in the thin air over their heads. They sponged on the texture of the animal, covering all of its body and inking the pure white color of the dragon's skin into a gloomy shade of blackness.

The C3 dragon flapped its wings, sending gush of wind which lifted the two's hair up and down gently.

The sight in front of them took all his breaths away. Heartbeats accelerating, body heating, mind blurring, hands shaking, the world fumbling all over, Deidara twisted his fingers. He formed hand-seals which he himself couldn't control, he screamed from the pit of his lungs something he himself couldn't pick up. He might be laughing, he didn't know. He was wandering around the land of dreams, the terrain of finest arts - where those filthy peasants with blinded eyes and shallow minds and could never set a foot in.

He let indistinct prays fly out of his mouth, opened his arms widely to welcome the arts he had wished forever to come get him and shut his eyes in immense contentment.

But oh, wouldn't it would be a selfish act to revel on his own? For this little moment, before a masterpiece was brought to life, Deidara turned to look at his partner. The usually-stoic Sasori seemed nervous! There were sweat and fear mingled on his once impassive face and the smile of his swirling in brown irises. The artistic strokes of his pen painted so ever beautiful emotions on a blank page. Deidara loved devouring delicious reactions that his art driven from people.

He thought of little clay bugs clinging on his partner's clothes and slowly eating him up in white, dissecting his body into millions of pieces. He thought of the man's scream muffled against clay, every fiber in his being ripped and burned in the blazing heat of a formidable bang. Oh, how spectacular would that be! People of all walks of life deserved a chance to marvel at the supreme beauty of art before they died, and Deidara was definite his enemies would be _more happy_ to die within their ultimate collaboration than anything else.

Sadly, the pitiful Sasori refused that favour as he turned his back and rushed out of the place. Deidara stood poker-faced for a short while, sank in disappointment. But then below him shook violently, blazing embers and amid debris thrashing down one by one like the hammering of his heart. They might have hit him, they might have not. All he knew that he was cackling in utmost delight, hollering his all-time favorite phrase.

 _It hurt. It hurt so damn much_. It hurt like a million of poisoned arrows ripping through his body. It hurt like someone reaching inside him and pulling his guts out with their bare hands. It hurt like having his every bone crushed, flesh torn under the worn-out wheels of a passenger bus. It hurt so much that it actually felt nice.

Deidara started running and flailing his arms around the way he would do playing in the rain, but now among dust, fire and blood. It didn't matter. He dashed through the falling debris, sliced through the pillar of fiery smoke and spun in the air, ever so gracefully. He was dancing amidst the chaos. His blue eyes glimmered, rivaling against the dazzling sun.

Those eyes witnessed how the world was _falling apart_.

Those eyes saw the catastrophic flame that started breaking by their corners before expanding to _everywhere_ else, covering the realm in a deadly _red_.

Those eyes observed the fire turned, twitched and writhed before splattering out as flashes of lightning.

Those eyes watched the mushroom-head of a column of incandescent gas and dust arose from the ground and almost deafened his ears in the reverberating noise like a thunderclap.

Those joyful eyes were only kept open before the air cracked, and Deidara collapsed onto the stack of debris, limbs falling out. The burning excitement cooled down into a freezing coldness. There it came again, the inevitable empty feeling following every epic moment of his art.

Deidara lifted his arms, which were covered with small scratches, a little blurry because of his dizziness, and wrapped them around himself. Soft breaths escaped his chapped lips, struggling to maintain a steady pace. It was a little lonely, to be honest.

When he slightly opened his eyes and anticipated for the brilliant sunshine, the red colour of the puppeteer's hair already obscured most of it.

"You are fucking crazy."

Deidara smirked, "Took you long enough to figure that out."

Sasori dropped himself down and crouched on his feet. Shiny sweat lanced his forehead and his cloak was covered in dust. "The fuck are you? You should have warned me beforehand."

"So did you warn me when you left me as a bait, un?"

The redhead looked like he wanted to be angry, but he was too tired to try to appear so. "Please, as if you weren't able to take those down."

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment," Deidara used his remained strength to shout out the comment. "but I was definitely traumatized, un!"

The corners of Sasori's lips twitched up, opening slightly for breaths to come out. For a while, it was only the sound of them sucking in the grimy air. Rays of sunshine draped over Deidara, and along with the episodic exhales of his partner beside, it was a little warmer.

"I could kill you right now."

Deidara glared down at the chakra strings which was creeping onto his neck, swaying to the fluid movements of the puppeteer's hand. He liked those movements, somehow. The way his fingers twisted and danced to a lyrical beat, his provoking sneer, his cold eyes and dreamy expression while manipulating others. Those were worth observing, rather than the awkward pose and rigid snap of wooden joints.

"Trying to strangle me? Go ahead. But a man that assassinate earns no respect."

"Still giving lectures when you're about to die?" Sasori twirled his fingers, bringing the strings closer to the blond's neck. They trailed like snakes on Deidara's skin.

The blond squirmed to the side and laughed. "S-Stop! My neck is sensitive-"

Because tickling him and watching him suffer must have been a much better idea than strangling him to death.

Even laughing hurt. His laughs were faint, depressing breaths of a man in his death throes. He curled up in a ball and tightened his fists. Things were starting to get dizzy, him at the brink of entering a whole other galaxy with different swirls and colours. When the tickling session ended, Deidara almost fainted.

Sasori seemed satisfied. The blond hated that he was too drained – emotionally and physically, to do anything but lying obediently like a puppy, letting the redhead's glowing hand touch his stomach.

"Well? Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes, I should have killed you." he panted.

The puppeteer shrugged. "And I should have never rescued you."

"Y-You almost killed me, un!"

"And I am going to leave you here to death if you don't shut up."

"I don't need y-"

The blond let out a little shriek as his partner's hand came in contact with his bruise. Sasori pressed his thumb further in, which Deidara responded with a crippling scowl.

"Don't shout when you're already out of breath."

"You're bullying me!" Deidara argued.

Sasori rolled his eyes at him. He scanned his bare torso with a disapproving – maybe even amazed look. "How are you still alive?"

"The shield. I've activated it. It's a special technique I've been working on. Still not completed, though."

"You risked all of these for being in an explosion?" Sasori asked, dragging his weary gaze across Deidara's wounds. His eyelashes fell and hung heavily on his lids.

"You'll never know the feeling of standing in the core of one. It is fascinating." Deidara gave a lopsided grin, "That must have tired you out, un?"

"You tired me out." Wiping his eyes, Sasori blinked rapidly to get him back into consciousness. Deidara felt his partner's gaze shifted and lingered on the area on his chest.

"Curious, un?" He chuckled in a raspy tone, which was the result of dust collecting themselves in his throat.

Deidara unraveled the stitches on his left chest, where his extra mouth was buried under, and ran a skeptic eye over his partner's expression. It had become a little game of his: either trying to guess Sasori's emotions through marginal hints or evoking those from the redhead. But Sasori's values didn't remain only in that aspect.

He had the aura that stirred people's curiosity. Who thought that such boring man could be so much of an enigma? What was his motivation, his happiness, his regret? What was the story behind his indifferent appearance? It was similar to the question why Hidan was so devoted to his bloodstained religion. You never knew – or so people all failed to know. Deidara wanted to _know._

Never had he longed so badly to delve into others' minds, particularly an artist with his ridiculous perception. Not everyone could bring out that side of him, and thus his partner is a must-keep.

Even though his overall facial expression remained mild, Sasori's eyes widened watching Deidara bit by bit untangling the black threads that held his skin intact. The blond did it with a smile, but couldn't resist a little frown whenever the thread was plucked off. Painful, but not unfamiliar. Ultimately, he withdrew the string out and twirled it around his finger.

The blood was drained on Sasori's face as the wound started opening to reveal the dark void inside. Then came a clammy tongue sliding through the rows of teeth, curling and reaching for the alarmed puppeteer. Drawing out a scroll from behind his back and held it in front of Deidara, he shouted, "Stay in your lane, or I'm cutting all your tongues off."

"Was that a little stuttering, un?" Deidara chuckled loudly, "You are so careless."

"Careless of me," he replied, "never come near me again."

Sasori grumbled, rubbing the ashes off his eyes once more. With heavy steps, he walked to the edge of the gas pit, where there was a rope hanging loosely from above.

"Hey-" Deidara said as a wheeze resonated from the depth of his throat. "Sas-"

An invisible force dawned on Deidara's lungs, which failed to absorb any oxygen. The ground was swaying under his feet. He gagged, and the last vivid thing he saw was some red drops on his palms.

* * *

 ** __xxlynnchan_**


End file.
